


In Starling Green

by writewithurheart



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, F/M, Gen, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writewithurheart/pseuds/writewithurheart
Summary: A Robin Hood AULord Oliver Queen has spent the last ten years in self-imposed exile, fighting in the Holy Wars. Finally at peace with himself, he returns home with his squire, Roy Harper, at his side, but the home he remembers is not the one he finds. Oliver must find a way to reorient himself within Nottingham and Starling before he gets himself into trouble, the kind of trouble that takes the shape of some starving villagers and a beautiful blonde with a big heart.





	1. Return to Starling

**Chapter 1**

The green of Sherwood Forest surely was a wonder to behold. It was her favorite on days like today: spring days blessed with warm sunlight even as the sharp bite of a chill lingered in the air. When the sun hit the leaves just so, the whole forest appeared ablaze with color. She could stare at it for hours. The yellow sun, the green leaves, the soft colors of a night sky breaking from the darkest of blues to the brightest of yellow and every color in between.

Each breath of fresh air, free of the pollution of Nottingham where feces were thrown in the streets and the upper lords and ladies drenched themselves in whatever perfumes they favor. She prefers the simple scent of the outdoors, which she gets precious little of.

“Felicity! It’s time to go!”

Then there’s that crude reminder that this isn’t her life. As much as she would love to throw away decorum and live here in the trees.

“Felicity!”

“Just another minute, Laurel!” She closes her eyes as she feels the sun against her face.

“If you catch a tan, Mother will not be happy.”

“To hell with Mother!” Felicity calls back with a laugh. “She’d have a fit if she knew what we’ve been doing anyway.”

“Come on, Liss!”

Felicity blinks open to stares down the hill at her step-sister. With a sigh, she starts down the hill, looping her arm through her sisters as they move through the trees on the now-familiar path towards home. “You know, there are times I wish we could live in these woods.”

Laurel laughs. “And how would we survive? We wouldn’t last a week.”

“Come now! Don’t be silly. Me with my bow, and you with those knives? And Evelyn’s survival skills! We would prosper. I could work on my machines. You can defend the rights of the people without fear of reprisals. We could disguise ourselves! Imagine us, making a difference.” Felicity smiles. “And no more marriage hanging over our heads.”

Laurel pulls her in, drags her closer and their steps fall into sync. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like any of your suitors.”

“Do you like any of yours? They’re all old men or despicable creatures.” Felicity’s nose scrunches as she remembers the last man to come knocking at their door. He’d been older than Quentin and at least twenty stone more with a predisposition for leering. She’d hated him before she saw him swat at a serving girl.

“Thomas Merlyn isn’t old.”

“Aye,” Felicity concedes. “He’s the only decent looking one of the bunch.”

“What about Lord Palmer? Certainly he could catch your attention. He seemed an intellectual match.”

“Oh, Laurel, you make him sound so wonderful. He was high-handed and arrogant.”  

“He was a better fit than all your other suitors.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. Raymond Palmer was nice enough, and he actually wanted to talk to her, which was nice. Or it had been for the first couple meetings. Then he seemed to think he could buy her affections with tokens and pretty words. Heavens forbid she try to explain to anyone that she found him suffocating and irritating. “Be that as it may, unless Father insists I accept, I will refuse him.”

“Your poor mother. She wants to see you married so much.” Laurel smirks, knowing just how excited Donna got with every suitor that showed up at that door and how disappointed she was when each was turned away.

“She wants to see both of us married,” Felicity corrects. “Imagine the fright she would get if she could see us now.” Felicity skips forward. She twists to gesture to her trousers.

“All the more reason to be quiet so we can sneak back into the house before anyone wakes.” Laurel throws Felicity’s hood over her head and pulls her own up.

_ Crack _ .

Felicity grabs Laurel and yanks her down into a crouch, hardly necessary when her sister is doing the same to her. They wait for another sign of life, some hint as to what made the noise. Felicity twists so she faces away from Laurel, slipping an arrow from the quiver at her back.

With a tap on the hand, Laurel points to the road hidden just over the crest of a hill. Felicity moves as silently as she can over the forest floor. It’s early yet for travelers.

“First thing I’m going to do when we reach Locksley is eat a nice hot meal. At a table. With a glass of mead. And a bath.”

Felicity glances back at Laurel. She shrugs.

“I get it, Roy. You want food and a bath. Any preference on the order?”

A few steps more and Felicity peeks around a tree to look down on the two men. Their horses plod slowly along the worn dirt road, lazy in their journey. They are weighed down with bedding and supplies, but also weapons. If not for the swords, she would have thought them peasants. Laurel leans on the tree beside her, eyes narrowed.

“Oliver Queen?” she whispers, eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

“Your betrothed?” Felicity rises on her toes to get a better look at the men. “The one who left to fight in the Crusades? Which one?”

“The one in green.”

He’s nice to look at, Felicity has to admit. The set of his shoulders, the muscles that ripple in his arms. She glances back at her sister. “You should have waited for his return. Thomas is nice to look at, but not so nice as that.”

Her whisper must have carried because the object of her gaze turns in that moment. His front is just as captivating as his back. Laurel drags her down forcefully. Out of sight is not good enough for Laurel, she continues to distance them from Lord Oliver Queen.

“Keep quiet and keep low,” Laurel whispers. “We need to get back to the house. If Oliver has returned, that means he’s come for Locksley, and more than likely does not know what has transpired. We need to get home before he decides to visit Father.”

Felicity refrains from responding as they race down one of a dozen familiar paths toward home. The sun is higher in the sky than it usually is when they venture home, the shadows almost gone as they slip through the back door.

“See, home safe and no one the wiser,” Felicity whispers as she walks backwards up the stairs.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Felicity pauses, foot in the air. Her wide eyes meet Laurel’s before Laurel’s eyes drift over Felicity’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Father!” She’s all pleasant tone and bright smile. The look would be the perfect face of innocence if they weren’t armed and wearing men’s clothes.

Quentin huffs. “And where have you been?”

Felicity spins and plucks a daisy from her hair. “We were collecting wildflowers.”

“I wouldn’t believe that if you came in with bouquets of flowers. You better not have been hunting.” He brushes past them, but does not acknowledge their murmured assurances that ‘no, they hadn’t been hunting on the King’s land.’ “Go get dressed before your mother catches you.”

“Yes, Father.”

Quentin continues on, muttering about obstinate daughters and a profound lack of sons.

<\-----------------------------------<<

“What is it?” Roy asks, voice low as he copies Oliver example of looking around the forest. “Did you hear something?”

Oliver focuses on the upper bank. He thought he felt eyes on his person, a gaze. It could just be paranoia, but years on the battlefield taught him to never dismiss his instincts as it could prove to be to his folly. “Just keep your eyes open, Roy.”

“Right, right. Always alert. Got it, Master.”

The kid is rolling his eyes. Oliver gets it. They’ve been through a lot. “I thought I saw someone.” Specifically, a green hood peeking over the hill. This close to home, he’d rather not be beset by bandits. Fighting them off would be bothersome and the only items he had of any true value were his father’s ring and his armor. He could part with the armor, but the ring would have to be pulled from his dead body.

“Want me to investigate?”

“No,” Oliver says, spurring his horse forward once more. “We’re more than a match for any bandits. And I confess, I am ready to return home as well.” He is excited to see his mother and his little sister, even his father after they parted on less-than-pleasant terms. His hand travels the small book tucked in his tunic, the last gift he got from his father almost five years ago. The book and his father’s signet ring, sent with a nervous messenger after five years of silence and passed on with only a cryptic message about how they contained his sins that needed to be righted.

He’s been dying to ask his father about the cryptic statement, but hadn’t dared ask in letters that could be intercepted. Then about a week after the package arrived, a soldier in black had come for him. He struck in the middle of the night, when Oliver should have been asleep. By all rights, he should have died that day. His survival was a miracle. The assassin had gotten in a couple solid hits, leaving Oliver with scars, but he’d managed to fight off the beast.

Roy was the one who stopped the death blow, a nameless soldier until that point. He’d taken the boy under his wing after that, taught him to fight, learned he too originally came from Nottingham, and promised him a home when this was all over. So here, after four years of war and bloodshed, they have returned home.  

The trees give way to fields and huts he knows well. The village has not changed much in the last ten years. Sure there appears to be a new cottage or two, but even the faces look the same, if a bit weathered.

“Oliver?”

He jerks his head up at his name, smiling growing across his features as he recognizes the woman. “Raisa.”

“Oliver!”

He hops down from the horse, striding forward to embrace the woman who used to cook the meals in Locksley Manor.  “It’s good to see you. You look…” he pulls back to get a good look at the woman who snuck him treats as a child. She’s skinnier than he recalls, her face gaunt. That doesn’t bode well, but he smiles. “Beautiful.”

Raisa swats at him. “And you are too kind, as always, Master Oliver.”

“I thought I would find you up at the Manor.”

She smiles sadly. “Things have changed, My Lord.”

Oliver’s smile slips from his face. “What has happened, Raisa?” She wrings her hands, a warning to Oliver that he won’t like what she has to say, but instinct tells him that he needs to know, however painful it might be. “Tell me.”

“It’s your father, my lord. He passed on several years ago.”

Pain lances his heart like an arrow to the chest. “How?” The word is choked out through the wave of grief. Dead.  _ His father is dead _ . He feels like he’s in a freefall. His motivation for years had been to make his father proud. It’s why he went off to fight, why he stayed gone for so long. He wanted to be the kind of leader that looked after his people, the kind that people admired. Oliver will never forget the night before he left, when his father called him selfish and arrogant, childish. He’d stormed out in a temper, vowing to assist Richard in the Holy War and not return until he was as honorable as any.

All his notions of grandeur had been trampled on in the midst of that first battle, when he had seen men killed upon swords and felled by arrows. He’d killed a few on his own, and thrown up promptly afterward. Those first few days had torn down everything he was and he’d rebuilt himself in the aftermath, become something greater.

It’s a pity his father isn’t here to see it.

“How?” The word choked out through the wave of grief.

Raisa squeezes his arm, a gesture of comfort from years past. “You’ll want to sit down, my lord.”

“Raisa,” he closes his eyes against the still-fresh pain. “Please just tell me.”

“Suicide.”

Roy’s sharp inhale convinces him he isn’t hearing things as he stares incredulously at the former cook. “What?”

“That’s what we were told, that he jumped from the tower and took his own life.” Raisa glances around nervously, as if she expects someone to be listening to their conversation. “But your father, he’d suspected men were coming to kill him. He told me to leave, to visit my grandsons, that he didn’t want me caught in the middle. When I returned, his death had been declared a suicide, which means…”

“It means Locksley has been reclaimed by the crown. What of my mother? Thea? Why did they not send word? I would have returned.” He would have returned in an instant, lands waiting for him or not. What became of his mother and sister, that terrifies him.

“We had news that you were dead, my lord.”

Oliver starts. “Who said such a thing?”

“There was an official letter with the stamp of the Royal Office. It arrived just days following your father’s suicide.”

“And my family?” Oliver pushes. As much as the lies infuriate him, his living family takes priority.

“Prince John, in his mercy, granted the lands to your mother but as wards of his new sheriff, because of his love of your maternal line.” Raisa continues to fidget nervously.

Relief, like cool water on a hot day, relieves his system. “So Mother and Thea still live.”

“There’s more, my lord.”

He nods. “Raisa, you’ve known me since I was a babe. Please call me by my given name, and just tell me what has happened. My mind is at this moment concocting a thousand different horrors.”

“They-“

“Halt! You there! What are you vagrants about, accosting this woman?”

Oliver stiffens. He knows that voice, from his childhood adventures. His lips twitch in a smile even as Roy answers:

“There was no accosting, good sir. We were merely reacquainting ourselves with an old friend.”

“Well, then, you won’t mind moving on your way. And mayhaps with a pretty penny we can even see you safely on your way.”

So that was the game. “Come now, Thomas,” Oliver says, turning with a grin to his old friend. “Surely, you can’t protest seeing a dear, old friend.”

Ire and annoyance clouds Thomas’s face as he narrows his gaze on Oliver. “How dare you speak so cordially to you…” Anger melts into shock as he gets a better look at Oliver. “…Ollie? Is that…That’s…impossible…”

He grins back at his friend. “Do you need me to trounce you in archery to prove it? Or can’t you tell by my charm?” Oliver winks at Raisa as he smiles.

Thomas slides from his horse and slowly approaches. His hand hovers over the pommel of the sword at his side, face pinched in suspicion. Roy has his hand on his bow, ready to draw it in an instant. Oliver holds himself loose and relaxed, a bright smile on his face. Years in a war zone have taught him that even friends could attack, but he trusts Roy and his own instincts to protect him.

“Gods above, it truly is you!” Thomas laughs, joy transforming him from harsh stranger to the friend Oliver remembers. He pulls Oliver into a hug he warmly accepts.

“The same to you, my friend.”

Thomas pulls back suddenly with a huge grin. “But this is spectacular news! Mother will be overjoyed! You have returned from the dead after all! You must allow us to escort you to the castle and your dear mother. We will have the grandest celebration to honor your safe return.”

“My family is not at Locksley?” Oliver glances back at the looming manor and then at Raisa playing with the garden she’s been tending to when they arrived. Something is off. Thomas used to be a fixture at their home every summer. Raisa loved them like her own children. What happened to change that?

“Perhaps is it best for your mother to explain. Come, Ollie, let us reunite you.”

Seeing no reason to disagree with his oldest friend, Oliver follows his example, swinging up into his saddle. Roy copies him although he eyes their companions with distrust and suspicion.

“Peace, Roy,” he whispers as he passes him to ride alongside Thomas. “So where are we headed?”

“Nottingham. Your mother is living there with the sheriff.” He glances sideways with what might be worry. “Your father…”

“Raisa already told me about my father and his supposed suicide.” Oliver for one doesn’t believe a word of it. It must be the same blackguards who tried to kill him. His father would never have taken his life and forfeited his lands, for the same of the people he protected if nothing else.

“Supposed? Oliver,” Thomas heaves a sympathetic sigh. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but my father investigated the matter himself. I’m afraid suicide is quite certain.”

Oliver pauses. “What about the Sheriff? Why didn’t he investigate?”

“Old man Lance? He was a raving drunk, Oliver. He couldn’t hold his position in such a state. With a wife dead, and his daughter run off, I guess it just all caught up with him. He lost it.” Thomas shrugs as if to ask what can be done. “He’s since remarried and come back to himself, but he no longer holds the position as you remember.”

“Laurel?” He asks, remembering the beautiful brunette eldest daughter of the former Sheriff of Nottingham. He used to run through Locksley with her. She was one of the only lady loves he flirted with that his parents approved of. It was generally agreed by anyone you could ask that they would have eventually married. There had even been an official betrothal at one time, but despite her reckless spirit as a child, he can’t imagine the dignified lady he left running off.

“No, his younger daughter, Sara. Old Man Lance was negotiating for her hand in marriage and apparently she objected to the match.” Thomas chuckles like ladies running from home to flee evil men wasn’t an issue.

Oliver frowns. “Laurel married?”

Thomas’s head jerks in his direction, something disturbing within the lines of his face. “Not yet.” He faces forward. “You were betrothed to her once, weren’t you?”

Olive blinks in surprise. “Yes.” 

“She is attached to another now.” He watches Tommy’s facial tick. His friend is hiding something.

“I would not be surprised,” Oliver sayss as if unbothered by Thomas’s taciturn attitude. “I would certainly never expect her to wait on a dead man.”

A nod of acknowledgement. “She’s accepting suitors and there may be one she favors.”

The slight puffing of his chest and the hint of pride in his voice says more than his words. Thomas is courting Laurel and hopes to win her hand. Honestly, he’s not sure how to deal with that. All his life, Oliver was told he would marry Laurel. She’s the image he had in his head whenever he thought of coming home: her and Locksley. Not necessarily together, but the two things. It had seemed an inevitable fact. Now that it might not happen…he doesn’t know how to deal with that. It’s odd.

Thomas, eager to move off the subject, starts talking about what’s happened in the last ten years, a fantastical recounting that sounds like a fairy tale to Oliver’s war-worn ears. The peasants they pass support his idea that nothing is as it seems. They cower away from his horse, eyes wide with fear. Children run and hid. The people, who were once well fed, look half-starved. It was far from the laughter and happy conversation Oliver recalled before he rode off to join King Richard in the Holy Lands.

The absence of joy disquieted Roy as well based on how he kept shifting in his seat and reaching for his weapons. The guards travelling with them seemed to be the focus of his ire.

“Roy,” Oliver warns as they leave the village and head to the tall walls of Nottingham Castle.

He releases his hold on the hilt of his dagger. “You really don’t feel it, Master?”

Oliver glances around. Roy’s right. This isn’t the arrival home he was expecting and he gets a feeling it will only get worse The air is just too foreboding as he rides up to the gates of Nottingham and into the arms of his only living family.

>>\---------------------------->


	2. An Enchanted Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is WAYYYYYY longer than I had planned, but it's just where the ending fell and I think you'll all appreciate it because of all the Olicity goodness. So, without further ado, ENJOY!

**Chapter 2**

“Is it me or does it feel like they’re trying to hide us?” Roy asks as he walks around the room Thomas deposited them in. 

It’s nice enough, the furnishings lavish, just short of overly extravagant. Oliver doesn’t feel like they’re drowning in wealth but the tapestry, the shining trays, the glass goblets are all indicative of prosperous times. But that prosperity could hardly extend to the lands beyond. 

Oliver puts his goblet down with a lip curled in contempt. This wealth was ill-gotten, a gain for the Sheriff at the expense of his people. He wasn’t sure who the man was, didn’t manage to get a name out of Thomas for all his talking. This show of wealth does not sit well with Oliver or Roy.

“They don’t want to create a scene,” Oliver murmurs as he takes a closer look at the tapestry on the wall. “Because no matter what happens, this will make a scene.” 

Roy snorts. “You mean a man returning from the dead is a spectacular event?” 

“You know me. I never do anything by halves.” Oliver straightens his clothes, glad they had taken the time this morning to wash in a passing stream. Days of travel dirt had been washed away and now he at least somewhat resembled the youth who had left years ago. 

“Lis! Where are you going? You know we’re not supposed to wander far from the banquet hall.” 

Oliver turns toward the female voice, the tone nudging the back of his mind in its familiarity. 

“I’m looking for a friend.” The voices are closer, right on the other side of the thick wooden door. 

Roy moves closer a frown on his face. 

“What friend?” 

“A friend who ran off without so much as a word about five years ago.” 

The handle of the door jiggles, only to stop over a quiet hiss. “Don’t. Felicity, if the sheriff finds us snooping...” 

“If the Sheriff finds us, you’ll bat your lashes at Thomas and he’ll make some excuse on our behalf. Honestly, you worry too much. Why is this door locked?” 

Oliver moves closer as the handle continues to wiggle. 

“Maybe because they don’t want people to get in. Are you...why do you always drag me into this?” The first female sighs. 

The other voice, Felicity, laughs. “Just keep watch. I’ve almost...got...it…”

The wooden door creaks open to reveal a short blonde woman in a vibrant red dress. Her hair is done up with braids and flowers. “Yes!” She pumps her fist in the air. “Told you these new lock pics were worth the money!” 

She turns then and stares at him in wide-eyed shock, realizing the room she entered was indeed occupied. “Oh! Hello there. I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “The lock picks would indicated otherwise.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her face flushes an adorable pink as she straightens and  attempts a haughty look. “We were merely taking a turn about the castle, definitely not breaking into locked rooms. Not that this room was locked. Not at all actually. It was just stuck. And very hard to open. Very hard what with my weak feminine build. I’m not all muscles like some people.” She gestures vaguely at him and then seems to realize what she just said. 

“Not that I was staring at your muscles or anything. That would be wildly inappropriate. Nope, I was merely making an observation about how you as a man must be stronger than me as a woman. Yes. That’s it. That’s the point.” 

The laugh, a bubble of joy in his uncertain return, surprises Oliver as it bursts out of him. It’s a quick sound, harsh and unfamiliar, but his lips twist up in a genuine smile. Roy’s eyes  bug out of his head as he stares at Oliver and then turns back to the girl. 

“Well done. I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh like that, ever.” 

She starts like she just noticed they weren’t alone in the room, and when she turns away she takes a piece of his heart with her. Her face lights up when it lands on Roy, a brilliant smile that Oliver will never forget in a thousand years. 

“Roy! You’re back.” She throws her arms around him in a hug that almost knocks the younger man to the ground. There’s an inexplicable flare of jealousy in Oliver that he quickly smothers as she pulls back and then whacks Roy upside the head. “That’s for leaving without telling anyone where you were going.” 

Oliver raises an eyebrow at Roy, who sheepishly avoids his gaze. The kid had said he had no family. This vivacious maiden would seem to dispute that claim. 

“Never change, Felicity.” Roy squeezes her in a hug. 

A whistle comes from the hall and she pulls away from them, head whipping around. “Sorry, boys, but that’s my cue. I’ll find you later.” She’s talking to Roy, of course. They haven’t really been introduced, but as she says that, her eyes meet Oliver’s and lock with his. The moment feels like it drags on longer than it should before she breaks eye contact and pulls the door closed behind her. 

There’s the little metallic sounds of the door latching shut just before more footsteps, heavy steps, steps of armed guards. Oliver freezes, worried for the woman who just locked them in the room. 

Roy grimaces, but turns back to Oliver. One look and he can already guess where Oliver’s mind is because he chuckles. “Don’t worry about Lis. She can take care of herself.” 

“Felicity! There you are! Thank you so much, Thomas, for helping me find her!” The other voice is back, flirtatious this time. 

“Laurel, why do I get the feeling you asked for my help to distract me?” 

Oliver blinks in surprise. Laurel? Lance? He suspected there was something there after the abrupt way Thomas changed the subject earlier. His tone though, sounds private, like their eavesdropping is an invasion of privacy. He pauses. Why was Laurel picking locks around the castle with Felicity. And where did two ladies learn how to pick locks? 

“Perhaps it was an excuse,” Laurel admits. “I do so enjoy your company.” 

“And I yours. Alas, there is an urgent matter that requires my attention. You ladies should get back to the festivities. You don’t want to miss the juggler. And Lord Palmer has been looking for you, Felicity. He seemed quite put out when you slipped out of the hall.” 

“Oh, perish the thought.” 

“Come now, Felicity. We don’t want to keep Lord Palmer waiting.” A pause. “And I hope you’ll be back in time for another dance, Sir Thomas.” 

“For you, I most certainly will.” 

Roy walks away from the door and glances speculatively at Oliver. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re going to win back the heart of Lovely Laurel.” 

Oliver shakes his head. “It was her sister that I pursued more, even if we were betrothed at one point.” 

“So you really were as bad as you claimed,” Roy decides with a smug grin as the lock turns in the door. 

Thomas steps in, changed out of his all-black ensemble into a blue dress shirt. “Sorry I had to lock you in. There are people wandering the castle and I’d rather not cause a spectacle with your return before Moira sees you.”

It’s a simple, neat reason. Oliver decides not to point out that locking them in the room hardly seemed like the polite answer unless they were not trusted within the confines of the castle. Or that he could see guards stationed outside the room now from the way the door stood cracked open. This definitely isn’t the Nottingham he remembers, the castle that was only used for official business, that kept all the finest accoutrements tucked away until a king or a particularly wealthy noble came to visit. This castle is now lived in and fortified. 

“Of course. There is no one I want to see more than my mother.” 

As if words could summon her, a flurry of footsteps and the swish of skirts that Oliver remembers so well from his childhood reach his ears. The door bursts inward again and Oliver’s eyes fasten on his mother’s face, worries melting away as he sees her in good health and a few more gray hairs than he remembers. 

“Mother,” he says softly, so as not to startle her overly as she stares at him in complete awe. 

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” she whispers, sweeping across the room to pull him into a hug, her arms tightening around him as if to bind him to her. “My beautiful, beautiful boy.” 

“If I had known what happened to Father, I would have returned immediately,” he whispers into her hair, breathing her in carefully. 

She pulls away, eyes watery with unshed tears. “Nonsense. Let us not dwell on the past. You’re alive and home now. That’s what matters.”

“All that matters now is you and Thea.” He glances behind her to where Malcolm Merlyn stands, looking on with a stiff smile. “Where is Thea?” 

Moira squeezes his arms. “Oliver…” 

He steps back, shaking his head. “No.” His father he can accept, but not this, not his beloved little sister. “Please, tell me she’s not…” 

“No, you’re sister’s alive as far as we know.” Mother is quick to reassure him. She squeezes his arm. “She’s just...not here. She’s staying with family friends. I’m sure she’ll want to visit as soon as she hears about your return.” 

“Family friends? Why isn’t she home?” He frowns. 

His mother’s smile falters, wilting a little under his gaze. “She wasn’t supportive of my second marriage.”

All eyes are on him, each like a physical brand. He feels like this is a test. His mind though is stuck on one word: remarried. His eyes drift to Malcolm in the door again and to Thomas. Their families had always been close. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe something bigger was happening. Malcolm had always had his eyes on the Sheriff’s position and on Locksley. 

He’s not naive. He knows his parent’s relationship was arranged. Not to say there was no love there, but they hadn’t married for that fanciful concept. Oliver had been their only child for the longest time and a disappointment to his father. Thea had been the miracle child and their father’s favorite if there ever was one.

He can read the situation and he’s not too thrilled with what he’s seeing. His smile is forced. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order. Who is the lucky man?” 

Malcolm steps forward as Moira turns back, moving so they stand next to each other. His eyes fall to their arms that link together in a practiced motion. They look comfortable with each other, like this is a pose they’ve assumed before. Regal. They look powerful. He’s used to his mother’s magnanimous appearance. She always had that ability to silence a room just by walking in. His father held himself with the same stiffness when he cared to. 

It feels wrong with Malcolm, like betrayal. Maybe it’s because Malcolm was his father’s best friend or that it’s just that his own father’s gone and this feels like it’s moving too fast. 

“Malcolm and I got married two years ago.”

“Congratulations, Mom, Malcolm. This is indeed good news.” He smiles to disguise the unease setting in. He’s felt it since Thomas locked him and Roy in the room. This is about more than just worrying about a scandal or how he’ll react to his mother’s new marriage. There’s something nefarious going on.

Moira beams at him. “Thomas was worried how you would take it.”

“As long as you’re happy, Mother, I have no objections.” He kisses her free hand with a charming smile. Thomas and Malcolm’s eyes are still on him, gauging his reaction as though they don’t trust his words. But he means it. He’s not happy about all the changes being sprung on him, but his only reservation is his mother’s happiness.

“And who have you brought home with you?” Moira turns to Roy, her smile polite as her eyes turn calculating.

Roy takes a step back and clears his throat.

“Mother, meet Roy Harper. Roy, Lady Moira…Merlyn?” his mother nods her assent. “Roy saved my life in the Holy Lands,” Oliver adds. He can already see the wheels turning in his mother’s head as she looks him over in an effort to assess Roy’s political and economic standing.

“And where are you from Roy Harper?”

Roy shifts nervously and glances at Oliver. They both know that without land, or a title, his promises to keep Roy gainfully employed are worthless. He can’t follow through, not easily at any rate. 

“From Nottinghamshire, my lady,” Roy bows, acting the perfect gentleman. Oliver raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“From Nottinghamshire? And what pray tell is your profession?” Moira shoots Oliver a look, the displeased one he most often got when she heard rumors of his flirting with village girls.

“I am but a humble soldier.” Roy grimaces.

Oliver snorts. “Don’t sell yourself short, Harper. He proved himself admirably in battle and was knighted by the king himself. He’s not the best fighter, but he has more guts than any man I know. I was planning on asking Father to make him a vassal on our return, however circumstances have made that impossible.”

He watches Thomas and Malcolm exchange wry glances. There’s a pregnant pause before Malcolm finally offers with a tight smile. “I’m sure we could find a place for such a worthy young man within our ranks. And a position for you as well, Oliver. You know you’re like another son to me. It would be a pleasure for you to join us here in Nottingham.” For the first time, true warmth permeates his expression as he smiles at Oliver.

The offer, ingrained in societal customs, seems forced, but there’s no way to refuse. Where else could Oliver go? There was no one to take him in.

“We would love to accept your kind offer.”

“Nonsense, Oliver! You’re family. Now come, you’re just in time for the feast. We’re celebrating the harvest and now your prodigious return.” Malcolm slaps him on the back and moves forward. “Let’s reintroduce you to the good people.” 

…

“Honey! Where have you been? Lord Palmer has been looking for you!”

Felicity winces as her mother collides with her where she was hiding by a tapestry of King Arthur. With enthusiasm only Donna Smoak can muster, she spins her daughter around to face the mingling nobles and wealthy merchants of Nottingham. Felicity digs her heels in as her mother propels her forward, toward the exact person she’s spent the entire evening evading.

“Funny, because that’s exactly who I’ve been trying to avoid.” She turns. “Please don’t make me talk to him, Mom. I beg you.”

“Honey, that is a gorgeous young man of wealth and substance who loves your gadgets. You’re not going to find another one like that.”

Felicity glares even as she acquiesces to her mother and reluctantly crosses the room with her. She knows her mother’s only doing this because she cares. Her mother wants her to be cared for, wants to see her secure and not working hard to make ends meet like she had to do after Felicity’s father died. For her mother’s sake, she can tolerate Ray Palmer for a night.

“Miss Smoak!” He declares loudly. “Your face is a breath of fresh air!” He bows to her with a bright smile. “It is fantastic to see you.”

“And you, Lord Palmer.” She curtsies, brushing off her mother’s pleased smile. It’s an effort not to roll her eyes at these mundane antics. She’d rather be just about anywhere else right now.

“May I have this-“

“Most Lovely Ladies and Respectable Gentlemen!”

Felicity doesn’t have to fake a smile as she turns to face the night’s host, happy to see Malcolm Merlyn for once in her life. Perhaps she’ll get out of that dance now. If she plays her cards right. Malcolm moves to the middle of the raised dais with all the flair of a showman. Felicity clenches her jaw, reminded intimately of why she hates the man. He’s flashy and greedy when most people in the shire are starving, barely able to feed their family.

“I have some wonderful news to share with you!” He steps aside. “Another reason to celebrate: the return of my new son! Oliver of Locksley has returned as if from the dead! Let us welcome him back with open arms!”

There was a beat before a cheer rose as Oliver joined the Sheriff on the dais along with Moira and Thomas. The whole pack made the absence of Thea Queen all the more glaring.  Her mother gasps and grabs Felicity’s arm in a tight grip, eyes wide and fastened the newcomer.

“Oh, there is another fine specimen.” Donna winks at Felicity. Her voice carries far more than Felicity would like in a mostly silent room, garnering several looks from those near. “And…is that…Roy?”

Felicity grabs her mom’s arm to hold her back before she rushes forward and causes a scene when she embraces Roy like a long lost son. That would hardly be appropriate. “That’s what I mean to tell you, Mother,” Felicity whispers. She pulls her mother close so they can talk without gathering attention. “I saw him earlier. He returned with Lord Oliver of Locksley.”

“Oh, thank the heavens above. You know his mother would have a fit if she knew we let him run off like that.”

“He’s back now, Mama,” Felicity soothes. “He looks better than he did three years ago. He’s grown into himself.” She nods to the young man in red, his chest puffed out, standing tall and straight. The Roy who had left picked fights with those he deemed unfair. He got in trouble more often then he breathed, sported bruises more than smiles. If anything the war he ran off to fight forced him to grow up at long last.

Malcolm is still talking about one thing or another, a riveting speech, she’s sure. Felicity’s gaze slides from Roy leaning against the back wall to Malcolm once more. Except her gaze never gets back to the illustrious sheriff. She starts when she finds Oliver Queen’s eyes on her. She blinks. It’s not just her imagination. He’s watching her.

She’s not the only one to take notice. Her mother nudges her and leans close to whisper. “Looks like Lord Palmer has some competition.”

“Mother,” she chastises. She fights the blush threatening to rise on her cheeks as she looks up at Oliver again through her lashes. His eyes leave hers when Malcolm’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“He seemed quite smitten with you, honey,” Donna whispers, voice higher in relation to her excitement at the prospect. “Have you seen those arms? Those are the kind of arms that could keep you warm on a cold winter night.”

Felicity turns to stare at her mother as the crowd begins to talk amongst themselves again. Before she can respond, admonish her mother for her less-than-subtle hints, Laurel appears at her shoulder.

“An interesting turn of events, don’t you think?” She loops her arm through Donna’s. “Do you think this means Thomas won’t be proposing tonight?”

Donna squeals. “You think he was planning that tonight!”

“Shhhh!” Felicity sighs. It’s obvious Thomas wants Laurel. They’ve been circling each other for what feels like years. Laurel keeps stalling him with the proposal, biding her time. Felicity’s sure that this time Laurel would have said yes. She’s close to caving. Truly, Felicity can’t blame her. Thomas can be persuasive and caring when he wants to be.

“Miss Smoak, I believe I was about to ask you for a dance.” Ray Palmer appears at her side like a persistent burr she couldn’t shake from her clothes.

“Ah! Lady Lance, Laurel, Felicity!” Thomas appears from the crowd with his typical cheery smile for Laurel as he seduces his way into their little family. Felicity doesn’t buy his act. He’s cut from the same tapestry as his father, like it or not. Malevolent darkness lurks in his eyes. “I wanted to formally introduce you, or rather reintroduce you to Oliver of Locksley. Oliver, may I present Lady Donna Lance and her daughter Felicity. And of course you know Laurel. Ladies, Oliver of Locksley. And then there’s Lord Ray Palmer.”

Felicity curtsies. Whatever her opinion on Thomas, he’s given her another reprieve from a dance with Ray Palmer where he will inevitably blather on about some new gadget or fantastical idea, which will in turn showcase his own genius. While she normally finds such things fascinating and Ray’s gadgets are truly extraordinary, he somehow uses each discussion to proport his own brilliance while overlooking any potential he has to make an impact on the lives of his people. A flying machine is wonderful, but if his people starve, what good will that do?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Oliver of Locksley,” Ray bows deeply. “You must be excited to be home at long last.”

Felicity watches Oliver for his reaction. He looks like a man suited to the battlefield, far too serious and aware of his surroundings for the frivolity of his current surroundings. His eyes meet hers briefly before he responds.

“Yes, it is a pleasure to be reunited with my family. And to discover that I have a larger one than I imagined.”

So, Laurel was right. He didn’t know about the tragedy that befell the Queens, was unaware of the changes that have taken place until he returned. He’d been headed toward Locksley after all, not toward Nottingham and the Sheriff’s keep. 

“I only wish I could have seen my father one last time, apologized for that last fight.” His words are spoken with the light tone of a courtier, a teasing lilt. Thomas winces as he realizes he has to extract them from Ray’s social faux pas. 

Ray however is completely oblivious as to the implication that Oliver came back to find his father dead and his mother remarried. “Of course, what would any of us give to mend those last broken bridges? I recall my own father lamenting over the fact that he had never stood up to my grandfather and married the woman he loved-” 

“It is good to see you again after so long, Oliver,” Laurel interrupts, stepping forward. She doesn’t look too happy about the reunion, but she’s as self-sacrificing as always for the sake of decorum and other’s unease. 

Oliver takes her hand with another easy smile, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “And you too, Laurel. I didn’t think it possible, but you look more lovely than when I left.” 

Her angelic smile makes its appearance. “You are too kind. I’m sure if I had been, you would have stayed.”

Felicity looks down to hide her smile. Laurel’s always been good at playing the game, at the witty repartee that surrounds them. Felicity’s mouth tended to get away from her more often than not. 

“Perhaps it’s for the best. I understand there may soon be reason to wish you congratulations,” Oliver says. Felicity’s eyes shoot up to stare at him, darting to Laurel and Thomas, both of whom look astounded. After a moment of tense silence, Oliver laughs. “Come now, Laurel, this is good news, is it not? Surely you don’t think I would try to hold you to an agreement made eons ago when I abandoned you in such disgrace. Even before I left, our engagement was over. I’m happy to see you once again. And to meet you, Lady Lance and your gorgeous daughter.” 

Donna giggles. “Oh, you are a charmer, Lord Queen.” 

“Please, call me Oliver.” 

“Only if you call me Donna.” Felicity could die of embarrassment right here. 

“Donna,” Oliver agrees, kissing her hand. “As I understand it, you know my comrade.” He steps aside to reveal Roy. “Roy saved my life. He speaks very highly of you.” 

Based on the glare Roy throws in Oliver’s direction, Felicity highly doubts the veracity of that statement. Roy taciturn attitude hardly allows for pleasant conversation about himself. Nor would he ever want to point someone in their direction if he could help it. Her mother, however, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she brushes past Oliver to pull Roy into a hug. 

“Do you know how worried we were, Roy Harper!” Felicity rolls her eyes at her mother’s antics and continued fussing. She’s sure Quentin will love that, especially when Donna no doubt attempts to bring him home. Quentin seems to disapprove of any and all males. She can’t imagine someone with a colorful record such as Roy’s. 

“Lady Felicity, may I have a dance?” 

He’s playing a game of some sort. She can see that from the way he neatly plays each of them. He cleanly put up with Ray, acknowledged Laurel and Thomas’s affair, surrendered Roy to her mother’s arms, and maneuvered her into a dance. She’s impressed by it, despite her reservations. He’s more bemused than malicious with these machinations, a teasing glint in his eyes with every successful move. And between him and Ray, she’ll pick the nicely proportioned newcomer. 

This man intrigues her, with his silver tongue and quick humor.

She allows him to sweep her onto the dance floor and then just as quickly flounders. She looks around for some hint as to what dance they’re doing. For some reason, that has very much to do with Oliver of Locksley, Felicity finds her mind curiously blink. Should she know this dance? Sure she’s danced before but she’s having trouble remembering what she’s doing when there’s all that muscle in front of her, muscle encased in a shirt that’s almost indecently tight.

Oliver chuckles as he turns them into formation and steps back to preserve the appropriate distance between them. “In my defense, it’s not exactly easy to get new clothes in a war.”

Felicity stiffens. “I just said all of that aloud, didn’t I?” He’s taller this close and having his attention focused on her is disconcerting.

“It was charming.”

She glances sideways and the moves of the dance come flooding back as she succumbs to muscle memory, trying not to focus on how he is watching her.

“So where does a well-bred lady learn how to pick locks?”

Felicity stumbles a step as her head whips in his direction. “What?”

He smirks at her and leans a little closer as they circle each other. “I asked where you learned to pick locks?”

If she expects scandalized looks, she’s disappointed. No one appears to have even heard the question, although her mother looks positively gleeful as she watches them from the sideline. “I thought I told you I didn’t pick the lock.”

“Of course,” he says gamely. “You just couldn’t open the door with your weak feminine strength.”

Felicity grimaces at her own excuse. That was far weaker than she had previously thought. She never thought it was great, but he had flustered her with his…face. She turns back to him. “A lady must have her secrets.” 

His responding grin sets her heart aflutter once more. She needs to get the upper hand here, she can’t keep responding and getting more and more flustered. 

“Why was the prodigal son locked away in a secret room?” 

His eyes darken at the question, but his smile stays glued to his face. “I found myself a little lost upon my return.” He glances around the hall. “A lot has changed in five years. Last I was here Quentin Lance was Sheriff and this castle was only used for official business.” 

Felicity looks in his face, noticing that it settles into worried lines as he looks around the hall, narrowing on opulent fixtures that have been added at the expense of the poor of Nottingham. Even Ray, so obsessed with giving back, doesn’t recognize the detriment Malcolm Merlyn’s greed inflicts. But this stranger,  who hasn’t even been home a day, can already see the changes. It’s not helping her feelings which threaten to run away into fantasies, but it buoys her spirit. 

There’s so much she wants to say. It bubbles inside of her. Here she’s found a kindred soul who would understand her efforts to help the poor,  who might even help her. She has faith - blind trust - that despite them being strangers, he would listen to her tales of injustice, would be angry about it, would rise up in defense of the helpless. 

But this ball isn’t the place for those discussions, not when Malcolm and Thomas are present, their eyes on Oliver. He’s certainly garnered their attention and not in the happiest of ways. 

“So how do you know Roy?” 

Felicity smirks at him. “I thought he talked about us.” He’s trying to find an excuse, glancing around for anything when Felicity can’t hold back her laughter anymore. He stares at her with wide eyes. “Relax, I was teasing. Roy and I grew up near each other. My mom and his took turns watching us when we were younger. It’s hard enough for a woman to care for her family without a husband,  but with a young child? It’s nearly impossible. And then when his mother passed, we took him in.” 

Felicity’s eyes find Roy and her mother as she executes another spin of the dance. Then another until she finds herself back facing Oliver. “Roy’s the closest thing I have to a brother, but he doesn’t like to rely on people. The two of you must have an interesting backstory.” 

“He saved my life.” He’s sucked into a memory, his eyes taking on a glazed look as he stares at nothing. “We became brothers in arms.” 

It worked out well for Roy. She can tell just by looking at him that he’s more balanced than he used to be, tamer, less angry at everyone. This is the longest she’s seen him go without scowling, even if he does still look a little surly. Or maybe he just seems more refined now. 

“He was very angry when we met.” 

An understatement, she’s sure. 

“He acted like he has something to prove.”  

Felicity smiles sadly. It was a remnant of the world kicking him around. All Roy had ever needed was something to make him feel useful, something of his own. There was a time she thought he’d have to die to find that one thing that made him feel fulfilled. Instead, he’d returned to bashfully wave off Donna’s hemming and hawing. “Thank you.” 

Oliver pauses mid-bow as the song dwindles on the last note. “What?” 

“For looking out for Roy, bringing him home safe,  _ thank you _ .” She curtsies lower than she would normally out of respect. “I doubt he would have made it home without you.” Her lips want her to lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek in thanks, her hands to reach out and touch, her heart to say more words that convey exactly how thankful she is. 

“He saved my life just as much as I saved his,” Oliver responds, catching her hand in his and lifting it so he can press a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes never leave hers as he does. “Thank you for this dance. Your smile has made my return all the brighter.” 

Fanciful though the compliment might be, Felicity doesn’t completely believe it. When they were speaking of Roy, his mask had slipped. Now it’s back. He’s playing a part again. She supposes it’s necessary, so she smiles back and allows Lord Palmer to intercede and sweep her off into another dance. Her mind however, doesn’t wander far from the returned knight. 

… 


	3. Just Another Day in Nottinghamshire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! First, the chapter wasn't long enough, and then I added more stuff and it just kind of...happened. Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

“This is wrong.” Oliver frowns at the scene as he hands over a few coins for a meat pie. 

Roy glances at him curiously as he munches on his own apple. “What do you mean?” 

It had been his idea to wander the outside market of Nottingham, to get a look at the place he had left and how it had changed in the last seven years. Upon closer examination, it was worse than he had thought yesterday. Only a handful of wealthy merchants actually look as if they have the funds to care for themselves. And the poorer sellers look haggard, skittish like they’re expecting harassment just for their presence. 

Oliver turns to stare incredulously at Roy as the kid tosses a hunk of bread to two children and a spare coin into an old woman’s waiting hand. She smiles up at him, squeezing his hand. He grins back before he realizes Oliver’s eyes are on him. He straightens. “What?” 

“What? I was just commenting on how this is wrong, but you don’t seem surprised.” 

Roy shrugs as they continue to walk. “It’s gotten worse since I left, but it was getting bad when I left.” 

“You never said it was this bad,” Oliver grumbles. Roy pulls another couple coins out of his pocket, handing them out liberally. If Oliver had known this was what they would encounter, he would have brought more money with him. “Can’t the Sheriff do something about this?” 

Roy raises an eyebrow. “You think the Sheriff doesn’t know about this?” 

That doesn’t sit well with him. The opulence in the castle, the rich food at the banquet...even if it was a special celebration, it cost more than a pretty penny and more than could be covered simply by the Sheriff’s income. Oliver may have hated the lessons, but thanks to his father he has some idea of how much crops can yield and how much income the Sheriff can expect, even if he also has the income of Locksley. 

“Do you think everywhere in England is taxed this badly?” 

Roy’s appraising gaze has him shifting uneasily, but Roy shrugs. “For most? I don’t know. I know that when your father was alive, he only collected what his people could afford to give and covered the rest with his money. It allowed children to be fed and families to get back on their feet. It was a saving grace.” 

“I thought you were from Nottingham, not Locksley proper.” They start the walk back to the castle and Oliver feels eyes on him. 

“Donna got a job in Locksley. She took me and Felicity with her to keep us out of trouble.” 

Oliver’s eyes scan the crowd as he listens to the story. There are an unusual number of guards stationed throughout the marketplace. They are stationed at the boundaries of the wealthier stalls and on constant patrol. Down one street, Oliver spots a pair of grey eyes boring into him. He shifts uneasily even as he summons a smile and a nod for his new stepbrother. Thomas doesn’t even bother with a friendly nod in response, just spurs his horse on in the other direction. 

He notices the shadow next, a figure dressed in black that lurks in the shadows with a hood pulled up to mask his features. A gaze lingers on him before the figure turns. He’s looking for something. Oliver frowns, eyes darting around he spots two more shadows, small enough to be children. 

They move through the crowd with ease, slinking between people. Oliver catches a glimpse of a hand as they relieve a few shoppers of their purses and then disappear from the mass of bodies before their targets even notice their lighter loads. 

“Hey! Thieves! Thieves stole my purse!” By the time the call is raised, the culprits have vanished back into their hidey holes. 

The unusual number of guards he noticed earlier go sprinting through the crowd, chasing ghosts that have long since disappeared. They’re not even moving in the right direction. Oliver’s eyes move back to the small lane that could barely be considered a side-street.

Roy slowly chews the last bite of his apple and glances between Oliver and the opening. “So are we going after the thieves?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Do they go after the thieves or let them be? The guards obviously have no idea where the thieves went and Oliver’s not one of them. He has no obligation to hunt down the fugitives, no duty to push him into action. But his morals won’t allow him to hang back, not now.

Oliver sighs. Damn his morals. “Let’s go get them.”

Step by step he moves through the crowds, Roy on his heels. He doesn’t bother running. The thieves escaped without any attention and running would only draw more eyes to them. Still he looks for the same black clothing he remembers earlier.

He stumbles around a corner and almost collides with a young woman, hair wrapped in a scarf. She blinks at him in owlish surprise.

“Sorry, miss. Did you see any men dressed in all black pass by?”

She shakes her head mutely and Oliver moves on. Roy lingers, exchanging a few words with the girl as Oliver presses forward, enjoying the chase that he knows won’t end in the death of him and his prey.

The end of the road leads to another spiderweb of roads, each devoid of men in black and no helpful eyewitnesses.

“Looks like they got away, my lord,” Roy observes with far too much amusement for Oliver’s liking.

He turns back to the city proper. “Stealing is a crime. You don’t seem too upset about this for someone who is going to be a vassal of the Sheriff.”

“Is it really stealing, when the wealthy cheat the poor out of hard-earned money?”

Oliver glares.

Roy holds his hands up. “Right. Try harder to catch those stealing from the rich. I’ll do better next time.”

Oliver narrows his eyes. “You know where they went, don’t you? You found them.”

“I spotted one of them handing out the money they got to a couple children and decided it wasn’t worth it to arrest the guilty party.” Roy stares back at him with his characteristic stubbornness. 

“I thought you came back to be an upstanding member of society.” He narrows his eyes. 

“And I thought you were going to look into that book, not fall back into a society with twisted morals that allow the rich to get richer on the backs of the poor.” Roy crosses his arms in open challenge. “Look around, Oliver. Do you really think your father wanted you to help these people?” 

For the first time, he looks around at the houses. Here, on the edge of Nottingham, the houses are crumbling. Unlike the city center and the main roads, the houses are falling apart. There are chips in walls, shutters hanging sideways, roofs caving inwards. Rats are as present as people. Dirt and muck overflows. The people that are visible and not peeking around houses look to be little more than skin and bones. 

There’s a girl in a sack, curled into a ball as she watches him with bright brown eyes. An little boy runs through the street, grime streaked over his face, feet bare. He can’t know what it used to look like here. He never knew Nottingham as well as he knew Locksley. True, the situation is dire and it doesn’t sit well with him, but he has no proof it’s the Sheriff’s fault. 

He sighs. “Come on. Let’s go visit Locksley.” 

… 

“So you and Oliver looked close last night.” 

Felicity groans. “Really, Laurel. You’re worse than Mother.” She ignores her in favor of handing out the food they’ve brought. “Hey, William, how’s your mother?” 

The boy grins up at her. “Mom is good. I saw her three days ago and she looked happy. She says she may not make it home for a while again. Grandpa’s sad again and he won’t tell me why.” 

Felicity musses his hair with a bright smile. “Your grandpa’s just worrywart. He’s anxious about your mom, but we’re keeping an eye on her, just like we’re keeping an eye on you. Got it?” 

He nods, smile stretched as wide as it can go. “Thank you, my lady.” 

She squats down so she can get closer. “I told you,” a poke to the nose, “call me Felicity.” 

The seven-year-old turns runs and races back to her house, much to Felicity and Laurel’s amusement. 

“I think you’ve got another admirer,” Laurel comments with a grin. “William, Ray Palmer, Oliver of Locksley...you’re a regular Helen of Troy.” 

“Are you saying they’ll go to war for my beauty? I find that highly unlikely.” Felicity starts the walk along the main road from Nottingham through Locksley. “You’re far more likely to have a war waged over you, Gorgeous Laurel.” 

A slim man dressed in red falls into step with them, whistling a merry tune. “‘Morning, Ladies. I was walking by and couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. If you ask me, two faces as beautiful as yours could launch a thousand ships and more.” 

Laurel laughs. “Is this the famed charm of Will Scarlet?” 

He smiles jauntily back, the shadow of his hat hiding the rest of his features. “At your service, Ma’am.” 

Felicity glances sideways. “Is it done?” 

The smile slides from Will’s face. “Aye. It’s done. Evelyn and Sin are distributing the rest of the coin. Yesterday’s newcomers tried to break up the party, but your friend in red...he let us go.” 

“Frankly, I’m surprised he chased you at all,” Felicity mutters. Roy always had an innate sense of justice that leaned heavily in favor of the underdog. He never trusted authority. 

“It wasn’t his idea to pursue. He actually let Sin go.” 

Laurel slinks her arm through Felicity’s. “Do you think they could cause us problems?” 

Will contemplates the question. “Possibly. It appears they aren’t completely in the Sheriff’s thrall just yet, but it could go either way.” 

“I think they could be sympathetic if we presented it to them the right way.” Felicity speaks without thinking, her mind on the dance they shared the night before. They’d only shared the one, but his eyes had been on her for a good part of the night. It was flattering, but now...she’s clueless as to his true intentions, if he’s actually compassionate or it’s just her pushing her ideals onto another person because of her personal affections. 

“I would actually agree with you on this one.” 

Felicity blinks in surprise, turning to Laurel. “What?” 

“Oliver and Roy. If you play your cards right, you could sway them to your cause.” 

“Your? Not our?” Felicity pulls Laurel to a stop, forcing her around so she could look her in the eye. “Laurel, we’ve been doing this together for years, its-” 

“Thomas proposed last night, Lis. I can’t keep this up when I’m married.” 

It’s like she took another step only to find out there was nothing under her feet. Felicity’s whole world is a kaleidoscope. “He...he proposed?” 

She knew it was happening soon, that Laurel would one day join the Merlyns and be forced to leave their little crusade, but she truly didn’t think it would happen this soon, least of all last night after the sudden arrival of a rival heir to Locksley. 

“Last night. In the garden. Lis, I said yes.” 

Felicity’s losing her sister, one of the people closest to her heart. She’s not going far, but Laurel’s already forsaking this cause that they’ve worked so hard for. How can she both rejoice in her sister’s happiness and feel betrayed that she’s joining with the enemy? 

She forces a smile. “I’m happy for you, Laurel.” 

Laurel sighs. “I know you’re not. You’ve still got reservations about Thomas, but that’s okay. Trust me, Felicity. I know what I’m doing.” 

“So you’re giving up the fight?” 

Will backs away. “I’ll leave you girls to this.” 

“I still believe in the cause, Felicity. I just won’t be able to fight as we do now. I can’t go running around the woods in green pants with throwing knives. It’s time to grow up.” 

Felicity takes a step back. “Grow up? Do you think this is just a game?” 

“Of course not. But our lives? Felicity, our lives are not our own. Society expects us to get married, to have children, and sooner or later they’re going to question why you aren’t interested in that. Running around the forest in an attempt to protect the good people of Nottinghamshire, is not going to fly for that long. I can help from the inside, get Thomas to see reason.” 

Laurel pauses for a breath. “And maybe you should consider Ray Palmer. He would be a good husband for you, would let you continue to do what you love.” 

Felicity laughs, the sound taking on a manic peal. “Ray Palmer? Really, Laur? You expect me to go running to Ray Palmer?” 

“It’s logical. He can protect you-”

“He might, but I refuse to be stuck in a loveless marriage. It’s not like with you and Thomas. I’m happy for you, that this makes you happy, but that would not make me happy.” Felicity sighs, frustration leaking out in a whine. “I need someone who sees me as a partner, an equal partner. Ray doesn’t see me like that, and I won’t settle for anything less.” 

She takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to destroy this relationship. She loves her sister too much. Her hand finds Laurel’s. “I support you, and this marriage, but I need you to respect my decision too.” 

Laurel sighs, but pulls her in for a hug. “I’m just worried about you.” 

“There’s nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself.” She’s not alone, even if Laurel is leaving. She’s still got their birds, and they can take care of the people, the birds and bandits holed up in Sherwood Forest.  

“And perhaps we should see if we can get you a recently returned champion to help you care for everyone, and protect you in the bargain.” Laurel turns them back down the road toward Locksley as they stray through the edges of the forest. 

Felicity laughs. “Just because you’re happy now doesn’t mean you have to play matchmaker. I get enough of that from my mother.”  

Laurel’s gaze falls to her feet. “I’m serious, Lis.”

Of course she is. Felicity lets the smile slip from her face. “Are you serious about Thomas?” 

The minute Laurel takes in contemplation soothes Felicity more than she thought it would. She needs to know that her sister isn’t rushing into this, that she knows that she is getting into,  that it’s not just a safe place to live in the Nottingham and a roof over her head, but also an imposing new family that’s responsible for so much hurt. 

“I am sure,” Laurel murmurs, slipping her hand into Felicity’s. “He is a good man, in the depths of his soul, and as a lady, I can do more out in the open to help people.” 

Felicity knows there’s some merit to her argument, even if she doesn’t understand her reasons. “I’ve been thinking about leaving.”

Laurel stops short. “Lis…” 

“It has nothing to do with you and Thomas, or Ray Palmer, or my mother. It’s me.” She twists to look at the forest surrounding them. “Society is stifling, and I don’t fit. I don’t belong, Laurel.” 

Relief in finally speaking the words wars with the painful truth to bring tears to her eyes. “This role is not me. I’m not a pretty lady, I’m the daughter of a tinkerer and barmaid. I would rather spend the day creating something than sewing. Although, I do like the dresses,” she admits with a smile as she brushes tears from her cheeks with a small laugh. “The dresses are lovely, but everything else...It’s not me.” 

Arms wrap around her, bind her to the solid mass that is her sister. Wet drops land on her head and Felicity squeezes Laurel back. 

“First, Sara, now you. It seems like I’m destined to lose all my sisters.” 

A laugh, bright with surprise pops from Felicity’s mouth. “Well, you know, us. Sara and I weren’t really meant for living in the light.” 

“You could,” Laurel whispers, head resting against Felicity’s shoulder. “So you don’t play the part of a lady. It’s not as if Mother and Father would abandon you.” 

“No, but what about my agency? As a woman, I have none. No one takes me seriously.” Laurel opens her mouth, and Felicity rushes to speak before she can make the same point she always makes. “Yes, I am well aware that I can use that to my advantage, but don’t you ever just wish that someone would listen to you because they  _ value _ your advice?” 

Felicity pulls away from the hug to look Laurel in the eye. She’s lucky. Her father has always listened to her, heeded her guidance. Laurel’s experiences were vastly different from Felicity’s own. Felicity grew up invisible. She wasn’t seen, much less heard, until she started to grow up. Then the attention she attracted was far from welcome. 

It made her feel like a piece of meat. No one cared to see the brain underneath the pretty dressings. 

“If I leave - live in the forest - you’d still be able to see me. Nothing would change except I wouldn’t be strangled by society.” It was cloying; The stench of hypocrisy among the wealthy. She was sick of it. At least when she was the daughter of a barmaid, people spoke their minds. Laurel, though...Laurel thrives. She wields words better than her knives. 

“Don’t do this, Lis.” 

The soft plea won’t tempt her. She’s made up her mind. This is how she makes a difference in this world. “This is the part where you point out that I don’t do well on my own in the wilderness, that I love my feather mattress too much, that I can’t cook food without burning it beyond recognition, but none of that matters.” 

She smiles up at the trees around them. Sunlight paints patterns on her face as it peeks through the interwoven green leaves. “I won’t be on my own. And I can learn to sleep on the ground. You’re forgetting I had to do that an awful lot growing up. As for food, I can scavenge and trade for already cooked food.” 

“What about living your own life?” 

Felicity blinks, dropping her hands as she turns to face Laurel. “That’s what I’ll be doing. I’m not me unless I’m helping people, so that’s what I’m going to do.” 

She strides forward then, leaving her sister behind. This rift between them won’t be resolved by a single conversation, but as Laurel slips her arm through Felicity’s so they’re walking side by side once more, she knows they’re going to be okay.

This conversation is far from over, but their relationship is stronger than their disagreement.

… 

Locksley looks far worse for wear as Oliver walks the village the second time, after the newness of his return has cleared from his eyes. The little things jump out at him now. The little children, who used to be able to run around and laugh every so often are working in any capacity they can to help the rest of the family. All laughter is almost extinct. Every person they come across shies away from them until Oliver reintroduces himself to some of Locksley’s life-long residents. 

Roy trails behind him as he makes his way through the village. Roy used to be one of the urchin children, as Oliver understands, but now even he is being treated with suspicion. 

He glances back as a little girl runs away from Roy giggling just in time to see his squire hand another child a roll nicked from the Sheriff’s table. Oliver sighs and faces forward again. He’s surprised Roy still has any left to give. He passed out his own scraps before they even left Nottingham. 

What little coin he could spare was distributed not long after that. 

Oliver spots the house he’s looking for a moment later. The building as he remembers it had been aged. The freshly lacquered wood faded and showing dents of wear. The thatch roof appears to  be worn in places. 

He takes a deep breath before he walks up to the door and knocks. 

“Around back,” calls a deep, familiar voice. 

Oliver exhales, relaxing. At least he hasn’t left. He doesn’t know what he would do if this last connection to his father was severed. 

He rounds the corner to see two men seated on a rock wall. He recognizes the older man immediately,  his skin darkened by the sun,  but nothing can wipe the kindness from Walter Steele’s eyes. The younger man is tall and gangly, even seated. He stares  at Oliver with wide, curious eyes, that make him seem far younger than his height suggests.

“Walter, it’s me, Oliver.” His heart drops with every word, and the lack of recognition. If anyone were to recognize him, he would have hoped it would be his father’s former steward. It was wishful thinking to come here at all. 

He just wanted someone who knew him, who knew his father through all the layers of courtly speech, someone who he used to have real conversation with. 

“You’re busy. I’ll just call lat-” 

“Oliver!” 

Warm arms drag him into a hug before Oliver can comprehend what has happened. It’s brief, a clap on the back before Walter pulls back to look him in the face, exactly the kind of greeting he had hoped for from his own father. 

Walter looks him over with a serious eye. “You seem to have finally filled out there, my lord. Your father would be proud to see you now, God rest his soul.” 

Unexpected grief catches in Oliver’s throat. No one has said something so profound to him since his return. “It’s good to see you too, Walter, but please, call me Oliver. Starling is not mine. I am no lord.” 

“Titled or not, you are the rightful heir,” Walter says with a sigh, releasing Oliver’s soldiers. “Have you talked to your mother, then?” 

He nods. “And to Raisa. Raisa says perhaps it wasn’t suicide.” 

Walter gestures Oliver over to the wall. “Your father made many enemies, Oliver, and many of them would have no scruple when it comes to killing a man.” 

Oliver glances at the other man before focusing on Walter once more. “What kind of enemies?” 

“The kind we shouldn’t talk about in the open like this,” he gently rebukes. Then he gestures to the man. “Oliver, may I introduce you to Barry Allen, a former lawman. Barry, Lord Oliver Queen of Starling.” 

Oliver rolls his eyes at his formal title. That may have been his once, but not any more. Walter’s strict adherence to tradition and formalities, though, reminds him thoroughly of home and feels like a better welcome than he received in Nottingham. “You should call me Oliver, for that is all I am now.” 

Walter sits with great propriety. “Once a Lord,  always a Lord. Starling will stand by you.” 

“I’m afraid not many are of that same opinion,” Oliver says quietly. 

“You would be far better for these people than Merlyn,” Walter says with a scowl. 

“Be that as it may, it’s not the path life has laid before me.” 

Walter watches him steadily. “Would you reclaim it though, if you had the option? Would you become Lord of Starling again?” 

Oliver sighs. “Perhaps, although I’m not sure what good would come of it.”

Another moment drags on where Walter sizes him up before he nods. “You should come to Chapel on Sunday. The priest gives a lovely sermon.” 

Oliver blinks at the abrupt subject change. All he can manage is a quick nod. He glances back at Roy to see if he agrees, but his eyes catch on a figure behind his squire. The boy is dressed all in red, a bow slung over his shoulder as he saunters around Walter’s house, tossing an apple in the air. 

The boy is slender, too slender to be a man even if that is how he appears at first glance. But there’s something off about him, something almost familiar… 

As if he could feel Oliver’s gaze, the boy freezes and brown eyes wide with shock meet Oliver’s. His heart stops in his chest as he recognizes that gaze and recognition finally fits into place, wondering how he didn’t see it sooner. 

“Speedy?” 


	4. A Clandestine Meeting in the Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, but I hope you'll forgive me after reading the chapter! Enjoy!

**Chapter 4**

_ “Speedy?”  _

The figure in red - the man he swears is his little sister, ten years older - bolts, like a rabbit, jumping fences and racing into the woods. Oliver doesn’t think, just flies after her. It has to be Thea. No one else would have known that name, would have thought to run. So it must be her. 

Oliver frowns, ducking under a branch. His mother and Malcolm said she was away, visiting friends. So what is she doing running around dressed like a man? And when did she get so fast? 

His legs might still be longer, but Thea obviously knows this forest as well as he once did in his younger days. She slips between the trees with ease, turning like she knows exactly where she’s heading even if the pattern seems completely random to Oliver’s eyes. He can hear Roy thundering through the underbrush behind him. 

A high pitched whistle cuts through the woods, a signal of some kind. 

Oliver skids to a stop and listens: for a response, to some hint as to where Thea disappeared to, for anything. All he gets is a quiet wood, devoid of any noise except the rustle of leaves in the light wind. After a moment, bird calls return, but the only evidence of human life is Roy’s heavy breathing. 

“Speedy?” Oliver calls into the woods. He starts to walk in the general direction she disappeared, steps nearly silent as his voice echoes between the trees. “It’s okay. It’s just me. I think we need to talk. Mom said you were visiting family friends. I’m just trying to figure out what’s be-” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Shit.” Roy curses and fall over a rock to land on the forest floor. 

Oliver manages a more dignified start as he turns to face their unexpected company and arrow pointed at his face. 

He can’t see her face, not through the mask or under the hood. The cloth is brown, made to blend in with the woods around them. He might have even thought her a man, were it not for the thick braid hanging over her shoulder and the subtle curves under the loose tunic. 

Knowing Thea must be out here somewhere too, fueled that certainty. 

“We asked you a question.” 

Oliver’s head jerks around to another figure, in a slightly different uniform of brown, also masked. This one is gruffer, with choppy black hair visible with her hood thrown back. She tosses a knife in the air with practiced ease, flipping it over and over again.

“I’m looking for my sister,” he explains softly, arms raised out from his body so they won’t perceive him as a threat. “I mean you and her no harm.” 

“Her brother is dead,” the first girl throws back. She’s got a steady grip on that bow, a trained one if he had to guess. 

“Get her to come out here, and she can tell you herself. She’ll confirm who I am.” 

“And then you’ll try to drag her back to that hell hole. Tell Moira she’ll have to try harder if she wants us to fall for these ploys.”

Oliver frowns. “This isn’t a ploy. Why would it be a ploy?”

“As if you don’t know,” the archer replies. 

“I think we should all just take a bre-” 

“Shut it, Narcissus. The adults are talking.” 

Roy colors and turns to glare at the second girl. “What did you just-” 

“Roy!” Oliver cuts him off. This is not the time to get into a verbal spar. “Will you at least pass on a message?” 

The archer allows some slack in the bowstring. “ _ If  _ we know where your sister is, we’ll consider passing on a message.” 

Not the response he was hoping for. His fingers rub together in agitation. This isn’t anything like he imagined his homecoming. “Tell her I’ll be at the climbing tree. Tonight. I’ll wait there every night if I have to.” 

The girl with the knives nods and takes a step back. The archer lingers for a moment, sizing each of them up. 

She lowers her bow. “You’re not the Sheriff's men.” It’s not quite a statement, but nor is it a question. It’s not looking for an answer but Oliver gives one anyway: 

“No, we’re not.” 

“Yet earlier today you chased a trio of thieves through the marketplace.” 

He looks at them with new eyes. They’re slight enough to be the shadows, the ones Roy refused to try to hard to catch. Their garb is different, but that could just be that they’ve lost the cloaks that are apt to snag and catch on branches while travelling in the forest. 

“Stealing is illegal.” 

The archer smirks. “You were off fighting a war for God, but you would let the poorest starve to death to keep the wealthy rolling in gold? Where does that fit in your divine doctrine?” 

Oliver scowls. She has a point. He’s seen enough to know that the poor are poorer than when he left, the rich richer, the children more bones than anything else. Even in the midst of war, he’d spared what little food he could for the starved orphans they passed.  

A bird call echoes through the trees, different from the last. 

Both adversaries start, gripping their weapons tighter at the sound and their eyes dart around. Tension, dense as a morning fog fills the group. Hostility, which had been directed solidly at him and Roy now turns outward, to the rest of the forest. 

Oliver wraps his hand around the pommel of his sword in preparation for a fight.

“What is that signal?” He can’t see anything beyond the leaves of the trees, hears nothing but their own shuffling and the wildlife around them. 

“There are Sherrif’s men in the woods,” the archer whispers, moving away from them. “Get lost before they decide you’re one of us.” 

Oliver would love to argue that him and Roy could hardly be construed as part of a gang of female robbers, but he refrains. One glance at Roy confirms that he has his own weapon extracted and ready for a fight. He shrugs in response to Oliver’s unasked question and together they creep behind the two women to the road. 

“Please, sir, we have no money, just the clothes on our backs.”

Oliver slows at the voice. It’s worn and old, creaky with age. He just sounds tired. 

He drifts away from their guides to peer around a tree and down at the road. There’s a company of soldiers, maybe fifteen men in all, surrounding a trio covered in clothes so worn, you can see through what little fabric isn’t covered in patches and dirt.

“Then what’s in that bag, eh?” 

“Please, sir, it’s just food to feed my starving family.” 

The guard in question rips the bag from the peasant’s clutches to laughter from his fellow men, laughter that increases as their victim stumbles and lands in a puddle of muddy water at their feet. Slowly, as if drawing out a spectacle, the soldier peers into the bag. 

“Well, what do we have here? Some moldy bread,” he drops it callously on the ground to the peasants gasps of dismay, “and what’s this? Fresh meat?” 

This package is carefully wrapped, tied with a rough brown string to preserve the contents as long as possible. Even from a distance, Oliver can see the soldier’s lips curl in cruel delight as he peels the paper back to reveal a decent slab of cured meat. To the small family, that meat must be more precious than gold. 

“Nay, sir, it ain’t fresh. It’s been cured...” the man protests. 

He must know what game the soldier’s about to play sooner than Oliver because it takes him a second to see the relevance. Cured or fresh? What difference did it make? Meat was meat. There was nothing illegal about travelling with food. 

“And where did you find this meat? Wandering the forest?” 

Oliver lifts a knife from where it’s lodged in his boot, wishing he had his bow with him instead. He’s met soldiers like this on and off the battlefield. They’re not much in a fight, but they like to shove their weight around off the field. Still, it’s not like he can take them on alone. Or even with Roy as back up. 

No, the thing to do would be to step forward and confront them as a lord of the land. They were bullies, cowards, who would fall back when directly confronted. Oliver moves toward the road, ready to step out when someone grabs his arm. 

He turns to growl at Roy to just let him end this, but falls silent in surprise. Laurel Lance glares at him and presses her finger to her lips in a universal signal. Slowly, unsure of what exactly is happening, Oliver nods in agreement. 

Laurel nods stiffly, and efficiently pulls a handful of throwing knives from her boot and a small slit hidden in her bodice. It’s quick and graceful, a practiced movement he would have sworn she was unable to do the night before. In fact, he never would have pictured her hiking through the woods at all. 

“What-” 

She glares and Oliver closes his mouth around the rest of the question and turns her attention back to the party of soldiers. 

“My word! What is going on here?” 

Oliver jumps at the sudden loud and feminine voice from the road. He peers around the tree to get a good look at the newcomer and his heart stops in his chest. It’s Felicity, the woman who picked a lock, babbled, and danced with him last night. If he’d ever let himself admit it, he might even call himself more than a little smitten with Miss Smoak. 

She’s going to get herself into trouble with those guards. 

In a display of unexpected strength, Laurel yanks Oliver back behind the tree. “Wait.” 

He blinks in surprise. What exactly is he waiting for? 

… 

Felicity smiles as brightly as she can as she fearlessly approaches the soldiers in the road. Well, fearless isn’t quite the right word, but her shaking hands are hidden by the basket of flowers in her arms and their grip on the hilt of a dagger hidden within the brightly colored blossoms. 

When Thea had come crashing back through the trees, breathlessly relaying that her brother had in fact seen her and recognized her, she and Laurel had expected to meet him along the road, not sixteen of the Sheriff’s finest abusing their power. 

It was more than a normal patrol of only four men, which leaves Felicity inclined to think they’re looking for something or someone. So either they’re looking for the Birds of Prey, a sneaky group of bandits that steal from the rich - a name Laurel loves and is happy to keep even if Felicity thinks it sounds a little dark for their merry band - or they’re searching for the elusive Thea Queen. It amounts to the same thing. 

_ Or they’re searching for something else, Smoak, _ Felicity reminds herself with a shake of her head.  _ Don’t go getting cocky. You don’t know everything that happens in these woods. _

“Is there a problem here, good sirs?” Felicity asks, smiling flirtatiously at  the nearest guard. “These poor peasants can’t have done anything wrong, can they? Why it looks like they don’t have a single possession!” 

The elderly man and his two young companions aren’t familiar to her, but she’s close enough now to see the desperation in their eyes, especially the elderly man. He has a better grasp on the danger of this situation than the younger man and woman do. 

“I’m sorry to say, my lady, that I have found evidence of them poaching, hunting in the King’s Wood.” 

The guard is full of it as he holds the package of meat aloft, a package of meat that was supposedly poached, but even Felicity could tell had been cut by the expert knife of a butcher and not killed and skinned within the forest. 

“Poaching!” Felicity gasps. “That couldn’t possibly be true.” 

“My lady, I beg for mercy,” the old man cries dropping to his knees before Felicity, splashing mud where his legs sink into the soft earth. “I swear upon the Lord Almighty that I have never stolen a day in my life. Please.” 

She would drop into the mud there with him if one of the guards hadn’t moved forward to strike him. Felicity spins to him, placing herself between the guard and the man even as she stares up at him with a hopeful smile. “See, there must be some sort of misunderstanding.”

The soldier glances reluctantly at his captain, the man holding the cured meat in his hands. Felicity turns to him now. “I beseech you, good captain. There must be something that can be done.” 

He sighs, puts on a great show of thinking it over. “Well, if he had coin, we might be persuaded to look the other way, but really, my lady, these charlatans are playing on your sensitive emotions. You must not trouble yourself about them. How about this? I will give him an option.” He turns an evil grin on the peasants. “Admit to the crime and I will take your hand or force us to drag you into town and be hung for your crimes.” 

Oh, this is not good at all. Felicity bites her lower lip. The Birds don’t have the numbers to defeat fifteen guards. She’s bought them time to get into position, but if these guards insist on a fight… 

Laurel had thought the presence of a lady might cause them to disperse with their stolen food as a prize, but they don’t seem to be that lucky today. 

“And what exactly are this man’s crimes?” 

Felicity freezes at the voice as the soldiers around her whip around to stare at the man leaning casually against a tree. He’s obviously not one of her birds. Even with the forest green hood pulled up over his head, Felicity is willing to bet it’s Oliver Queen of Locksley. He was in the woods nearby after all. Apparently dramatic entrances run in the family since that’s usually Thea’s line. 

“Poaching?” The man continues. “Even I can tell from here that meat isn’t raw.”

“Move along, forester. This is official business. Unless you want us to question the legitimacy of your operations.” The captain seems to have grown brave. 

“It seems to me this man’s only crime is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why don’t you meatheads move along and we’ll forget that you caused trouble in our peaceful wood.” And there’s Thea, dressed in the customary bright red of her male persona. 

Felicity moves slowly, edging herself and the peasants out of the way should conflict ensue. 

The captain snorts. “You are outnumbered, boy.” 

“You sure about that?” Thea calls as the trees all around start to rustle and an arrow come flying through the leaves, followed by another one from the opposite direction. Felicity bites back a smile at the confirmation that her contraption works. 

“We’re surrounded,” one of the guards cries as he spins in a circle, searching for invisible enemies. “It’s be Birds of Prey!” 

“Leave now or we turn you into carrion!” 

Felicity glares at Sin where she stands on the crest of a hill, flipping a throwing knife over and over in her hand, definitely enjoying the play on words too much. They’ve been having too much fun coming up with cutting remarks that relate to the moniker given by the Sheriff's men. 

She blames Laurel. 

Regardless, a handful of men take off running. The captain moves slower, glaring at the woods around him for more enemies. Evelyn creeps out from behind a tree, bow pulled back and other warning arrow flies out from further in the woods. 

“My Lady, allow us to escort you from these villains,” the captain offers, holding out a hand. 

Felicity takes a step back. “I think I shall take my chances with the woodsmen, Captain. Someone must ensure this man makes it to his destination.” 

The Captain’s nose curled up in disgust and turned his horse away. “Well, then good riddance to you, too, Ma’am.” 

Felicity resisted the very unladylike urge to pick up a stone and chuck it at his retreating back, but only just barely. The Captain was new, new enough that he didn’t recognize Felicity on sight, but she knew the type. He was just like every other greedy henchman the Sheriff employed. 

“Are you alright?” Felicity asks over her shoulder. She reaches down to collect the rolls on the ground,  brushing the dirt off with a grimace. 

“We are fine. You should get out of here, my lady.” The old man watches the figures around them warily, but Felicity just smiles. 

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t hurt us.” She holds out the rolls. “What do you think? Salvageable?” 

“Really, my lady, these highway men-” 

“Mean me no harm, sir,” Felicity assures him with a bright smile. “It’s the sheriff’s men you  need to worry about, as you just saw.” 

The girl - now that Felicity’s got a good look at her, she can’t be more than thirteen - takes the buns with a grateful smile. Felicity swallows. They’re lucky, lucky the soldiers didn’t decide the prize should be the daughter’s virtue. She’d heard horror stories like that. 

“Are you sure…” The man glances sideways again. 

“We’re merely here to assist you, sir.” 

Felicity jumps at Oliver’s voice behind her. It’s deeper than it was last night, just above a growl, as though he’s trying to disguise the tone. Felicity’s caught between the desire to laugh at the ridiculous and unnecessary change and flush of attraction. As it is, she’s amused that he’s playing along with this. 

“Thank you so much, sir. We are in your debt.” The man bows to Oliver, hat clasped in his hands. “I don’t know how we could ever repay you and your Birds of Prey.” 

Of course, Oliver appears and gets all the credit. Felicity shares a wry look with Laurel. It’s just like a man to sweep in and take credit for a woman’s idea. 

To his credit, Oliver flushes and he laughs nervously. “As much as I wish I could accept your thanks, I did nothing but step on the toes of the...Birds of Prey.” His lips twitch at the name, eyes flicking around the clearing to where their gang is coming down the hill to join the small group. Evelyn and Sin stay back, keeping an eye out for the soldiers, should they decide to test their luck. 

The man looks around. “You were the first to speak out in our defense, sir. That makes all the difference. 

Thea snorts and turns away at that. Felicity tilts her head at the man, lips pursed in indignation. She might not expect thanks. She’s used to it. Even rescued peasants are miffed, when they find out a woman came to their rescue, but that’s when she shows up as a Bird of Prey. As a lady she at least would have appreciated the acknowledgement that she  _ tried. _ The fact that he could just dismiss her so easily irritates her like a bug that just won’t go away. If she had her bow on her… 

“Again, you are mistaken, sir,” Oliver says gently. “The lady first tried to dissolve the situation, which would have been a coup of miraculous proportions.” 

Maybe it’s the anger still simmering under the surface, but Felicity feels her face flush a violent red at Oliver’s praise. The wink he might have given her under the hood does nothing to slow the racing of her heart.  

Thea laughs out loud, the bark of a laugh she throws around as Will Scarlet. “You are certainly a charmer, Hood.” 

The peasant looks around in confusion, but Felicity is finished paying attention to a man who is content to dismiss her in favor of a man he can actually look up to. Instead, she devotes her attention to a close scrutiny of Oliver Queen. 

He might look better today than he did at the Sheriff’s party. The green suits him, it suits Starling, if she’s being honest. He’s got a bit of worn chainmail on, not the overly polished decoration of the Sheriff’s guard but armor that has been tested. He has a sword on him and she can spy a knife or two. He’s an archer though. She can tell by the wear marks on his tunic and the callouses and scars on his fingers, the way his fingers twitch for a weapon he doesn’t have. 

“My lady?” 

Felicity blinks at the words, eyes lifting to meet Oliver’s. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, a joke. “Hmm?” 

“These lovely folks have offered to accompany you on to your destination to show their appreciation for your gesture, should you choose to accept.” 

She glances at the peasants - who look rather displeased with this turn of events - and back at Oliver with his amused eyes. The ‘Good Heavens, no,” that first crosses her mind, remains unsaid, by some miracle. Instead she manages a small smile. “I thank ye, good sir, but I will be fine on my own.” 

Oliver turns to the man. “There! You see, it is settled. We wish you safe travels.” 

Felicity’s eyes drift back over to Oliver. He fits in here, which the forest and with the people. He’s kind. He treats the peasants with  respect and she’s pleasantly  surprised with how he defers to her. Laurel’s right. She could love this man. She’s halfway there already.

“LIS!” 

Felicity jumps, eyes latch on Laurel whose lips are pursed in amusement. At this rate, she’s never going to lose this blush. 

“Are you well?” 

“I am fine.” Her smile is more grimace as she turns to take in her whole team. The peasants have disappeared. She notices Roy for the first time, just a step off from Thea and she frowns. “Why are they here?” 

“That’s fine thanks, Blondie,” Roy says with a snort. “Those soldiers wouldn’t have been so nice otherwise.” 

“I had it handled.” 

“The man almost lost a hand,” Roy almost shouts in exasperation. “Your mom might have been able to flirt her way out of that situation once before, but you’ve never had that gift, Felicity.” 

That’s a low blow, a reminder that she hadn’t been able to save him when he was caught poaching, that he almost lost a hand because she insisted he teach her to hunt. “I had it handled,” she repeats coldly. “If we can settle a confrontation without violence, we take it.” 

She thought Oliver was still before, yet with her pronouncement he stiffens and doesn’t even breathe except for a “We?” 

“Oliver Queen, meet the leader of the Birds of Prey,” Thea announces with a flourish toward Felicity. “Felicity Smoak.” 

“You?” His eyes dart between her and Laurel. Felicity waits for the incredulous proclamation that women couldn’t be in charge of the Bird of Prey, that women couldn’t be bandits. “Laurel? You knew where Thea was? This whole time? But-” 

Laurel snorts. “Of course we knew. Who do you think helped her get away from your mother and Malcolm Merlyn? She trusted us then and we weren’t about to reveal her location to you with no indication as to what you would do with that information.” 

Thea rips off her hat. It helps a little. She can pass for just a pretty boy at first glance. “Do you even want to know why I ran?”

Oliver clenches his jaw. “I just wanted to see my sister, Speedy.” 

“Mother didn’t send you?” 

“She told me you were away visiting friends and that she would call you back immediately.” 

A derisive laugh crawls out of Thea and Felicity sighs. They’re going to have to be more careful in the coming weeks. They can’t let Moira snatch Thea. 

“Mother was always good at creating plausible stories.” 

“We should take this conversation out of the middle of the road,” Felicity cuts in, starting to walk a path back to one of their campsites, “before those guards think to come back and investigate.” 

“Does this mean we’re trusting the new meat?” Evelyn asks as she hops off her rocky perch to walk alongside Felicity at the head of the group. 

Felicity glances over her shoulder. She’s known Roy for most of her life. The only objection he might have is the danger that Felicity puts herself in, and will stem from his memory of her refusal to kill animals. She’s changed in the last five years, just as he has. She might not have been in war, but she’s been fighting this battle since he left. 

Oliver, on the other hand, she’s not so sure about. Her feelings are clouding her judgment in that regard. She’s not sure what is her cold logic and what is her personal feelings. 

“This means they’ve earned themselves a chance. If only because they stood up for a peasant when the odds were against them.” If only because Laurel is abandoning them. 

Evelyn raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure he did it for the peasant.” 

“Because he pursued you through the marketplace this morning?” 

“You have to admit, it’s a good ruse: send Oliver to find Thea. They would be fools to think she wouldn’t want to see him. They could have set this whole thing up to get us to trust him.” Evelyn plays with the arrow still nocked in her bow, even if it’s held cautiously by her side. 

“Which is why we’re not taking them back to the Oak. Is Sin grabbing the rest of the gear?” Like the strings and contraption they use to pad their numbers and scare of enemies. 

Evelyn nods. “She’ll take it back to the cave and then start a patrol. If Moira’s coming for Thea, we should be prepared.” 

Sounds like a good plan. If they’re going to be searching the forest, it might be best for the birds to relocate for a little while. 

… 


	5. Thea's New Life and the Elusive Felicity Smoak

**Chapter 5**

The campsite is not their home. He has no doubt they use it on occasion, but Felicity is smart enough not to bring him and Roy into their inner sanctum. She’s surprised him. He knew she was brave, fearless even. She’d intrigued him from the moment she picked the lock in Nottingham. And then when she stood up to those soldiers. 

He’d made the mistake then of thinking she was in over her head, that she was acting with her heart and not aware of the danger of her own situation. He hadn’t expected her to know Thea and her friends. He underestimated her and instead of frustrating him, it made him want to smile, to get to know her better. 

It’s hard to remember that she’s not the reason he’s here. 

“I’m just trying to understand, Speedy. What happened? Why did you run away from home?” The sister he left behind wouldn’t have been capable of living in the woods, even with the help of others. 

Thea drops onto a stump with a groan. “How can I explain it to you, Ollie? You never really saw what was going on while you were home and then you just left.”

“What didn’t I see?” There’s a lot. He knows. He was an idiot who couldn’t see right in front of him unless it was ale or a pretty girl. He cared, but he was oblivious. War had changed that. But she’s talking about something specific. 

“Dad wasn’t dead a month when Malcolm proposed to Mom,” Thea says quietly. “At first, I thought nothing of it. Our families were close. He hadn’t married since his wife’s death. It made sense for the two of them. It kept us safe, kept Locksley in the family at least and not swept up by Prince John, but...It wasn’t just that.” 

Oliver pushes his hood back and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. What was it then?” 

“How much have you seen them together, Ollie?” 

He thinks back to their closeness. “They look happy.” 

“Exactly!” Thea jumps up again and starts pacing, drawing a couple looks from the rest of the Birds of Prey and Roy who sit a little apart. “They were always like that. And I...I accused Mom of being in love with Malcolm. I knew she and Dad had an arranged marriage. Their relationship was a business transaction. At most they tolerated each other, but her and Malcolm…” 

Thea stops suddenly, the lack of movement jarring in comparison. “I accused her of adultery, her and Malcolm.” 

Oliver blinks. He didn’t expect that. “No. Mom wouldn’t. Dad was the one who…” Thea’s already shaking her head, eyes hard. 

“She confessed. She confessed, Ollie. She thought I’d already figured it out. She didn’t realize…” Thea’s hand clenches at her throat, around the silver pendant she got from their father at the age of twelve, one of her most prized possessions. 

“What did she say, Speedy?” He already knows, buried in the depths of his soul something has always suspected. It was a dark thought, one dismissed in the naivety of youth and the elevation of one’s parents. It seems his return is destroying more than just his hopes of a family reunion. 

Thea shakes her head. “No. No, I can’t.” 

“Thea,” he whispers, standing to pull her into his arms. A part of his soul shatters when she sobs and clings to him. He hasn’t felt this much human contact in too long. He missed her, far more than anyone else. He’s been waiting years for this hug.”Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“You sure about that, Ollie.” She sniffles. “No matter what you claim now, it’s going to change things.” 

“Thea, nothing you say could alienate me. You’re my little sister.” 

“But that’s just it,” she shoves him forcefully away, “I’m not your sister, at least not completely.” 

Oliver frowns. “What?” 

“Robert Queen wasn’t my father. Malcolm Merlyn is.” Thea spits the words out. The anger that laces her voice cuts Oliver as neatly as a sharpened blade. His sister is hurting. “Malcolm! The man almost single-handedly responsible for the poverty of the whole shire. I’m related to that.” 

“Thea, you’re still my sister,” he cuts in before she can completely disown him. “It doesn’t matter to me who your father is.” 

“But it does matter,” Thea shouts back angrily. “It does, because it means I’m related to the vile creatures that torture the townspeople and make their lives living hell. And if they’re monsters, what does that make me?” 

Now that line of thinking is going to end right here. Oliver grabs Thea’s shoulders, forcing her to stop and actually look at him. He holds her there. “You are Speedy, my little sister, and a pain in my ass most of the time. You’re not them and you could never be.” 

“You can’t know that! There is evil in my veins!” 

Oliver falls back a step as Thea lashes out. “So that’s why you’re out here? To atone for their sins?” 

Thea scoffs. “Someone has to help the people. Mother is content to turn her back so long as she lives in comfort. She wanted me to do that, to ignore everything because of couple new pretty dresses. You should have seen her and Malcolm once I found out. Malcolm was actually  _ relieved _ , claimed he was happy I now knew. They were making plans, talking about the four of us as a family. I couldn’t just stand by.” 

“I know it’s not great,” Oliver says as calmly as possible. “But you can’t just run away either.”

Thea snorts. “It’s not like I just took off. I tried to live there, for months. I got scolded, Ollie,  _ scolded _ , for buying a starving child a loaf of bread because it undermined Malcolm’s authority. I was watched everyday. The only people I could talk to where other ladies. They were talking about marrying me off.” 

She zeroes in on him, stalks forward, and pins him in place with a fierce glare. “I couldn’t take it any longer. Still, I wouldn’t have made it more than a day without the Birds.” She spares a fond smile for the women settled in their own circle, just far enough away to avoid eavesdropping. 

Oliver meets Felicity’s eyes as she glances over at them. She holds his gaze for a moment before her attention turns back to her hands, where she fumbles and plays with a small gadget. “The Birds? And how did they get that name?” 

“Malcolm named them,” Thea says, amusement coloring her voice. “Because they were bandits who preyed on the men here to visit him.” She chuckles, clearly remembering something else. “He’d probably have a conniption if he knew we were all women.” 

“So they don’t know…” Oliver shakes his head. “No. Of course they don’t. Where do they think you are?” 

Thea grins. “That’s the best part. Felicity figured it all out.” She gestures to the blonde and the group starts over. “See, they know exactly where I am, and the Birds made it clear that they will protect me as long as I want to be here.” 

He frowns. “And how did they do that?” He’s not underestimating them, just curious as to how they managed to dissuade Malcolm and Moira. Neither of them are the type to back down when faced with a challenge. 

“Felicity and Sara did it,” Thea announces with a grin. She grabs Felicity’s arm and pulls her close. “They set up these traps in the woods, things that would stop riders on horses, things that would deter footsoldiers. It was incredible. What Felicity can do with a couple pieces of wood and some string is amazing!” 

Felicity ducks her head,  bashful as she brushes hair back from her face. “Really, Thea, it was nothing.” 

“It was not nothing,” she insists. “Oliver, this woman is the mastermind of the Birds of Prey. She’s the reason I’m as okay as I am. She and Sara - and Laurel,” she amends with an apologetic smile, “saved my life. They taught me to survive out here. And they taught me how to help the people who need it in Nottingham.” 

“You’re overselling us, Thea,” Felicity whispers. “It’s the people of Nottingham who are the real heroes. We just offer our assistance when they are in need of help.” 

She’s far too modest. It can’t be an easy thing, what they’re doing out here. “Felicity, you’re remarkable. All of this, is remarkable.” 

The flush of red on her cheeks is endearing, but the smile is worth letting those words slip out. “Thank you for remarking on it.” 

Those words seem inadequate. The more he learns about her, the more fascinating she becomes.  She picks locks and confronts guards weaponless. She speaks faster than she can think. Her smile brightens his day. Remarkable is perhaps the best word he has for her. 

“We need to get back before they miss us,” Roy says with a not-so-subtle elbow to his ribs. 

Oliver sighs. “Right. Malcolm and Moira will have questions.” Thea’s tenses at the names, rigid and stiff as her eyes dart between the two of them.  “I won’t tell them about this, but I would like to see you, Thea. I’ve been without my sister for far too long.” 

She grins. “If you’re staying in the castle, I’ll find you.” 

He nods. 

“Come on. We’ll walk you to the edge of the forest.” Laurel gestures to the forest. “After you, gentlemen.” 

Oliver snorts, taking the lead. “You do remember who showed you the forest, right?” 

Thea cackles behind him. “I don’t think you know this forest as well as you think you do. Do you even know which way home is?” 

Her presumption is outlandish as he would know these woods in the dark, and Oliver is about to remind her of that when he realizes that he is indeed turned around. He can tell the direction from the position of the sun in the sky, but for all their running, he’s having trouble definitively pointing their walking party toward Nottingham. 

While the landmarks he might have once navigated by have disappeared, aged to now be unrecognizable, he glances at the sun in the sky, at the trees around, and he’s back to the hunting and tracking he once did. He can at least point them back toward Nottingham. 

“Thea, why don’t you let us take it from here,” Laurel suggests gently. “With your mother continuing the search…” 

“Besides, Laurel has some news to share with you, girls,” Felicity interjects. Her smile looks strained to Oliver’s eyes. “I’ll return anon.” 

She doesn’t leave much room to talk as she turns and strides past Oliver and Roy to lead the way out of Sherwood Forest. Oliver silently falls into step behind her. Miss Felicity Smoak continues to bewilder him as she tramples through the forest. She scowls at branches when they catch her skirts and mutters curses under her breath as she then yanks her skirts up indecently to move better through the trees and underbrush. The progress they make is far from quiet. 

Oliver doesn’t speak, content to observe the little wood fairy who is far from what meets the eye. She looks like a lady, but between the lock-picking, her colorful use of words, her friendship with Roy, and her activities in Sherwood, Lady Felicity Smoak is far from what meets the eye. 

“A festering load of coswallup this is,” she mutters as she tugs herself free and nearly trips over a rock. “That’s it! We are making a detour!” 

Oliver fights back a smile as Felicity makes a sharp left off their current course. “Perhaps it would be better if Roy and I were to find our own way back,” Oliver says as Felicity hikes her skirts up to her hips in order to climb over a fallen tree. He averts his eyes, but not fast enough that the sight of her shapely legs are engraved in his memory. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she calls back. “This will take but a moment.” She pauses in a clearing. “Wait right here. And don’t turn around!” 

“Lis? What are you doing?” Roy asks. His eyes are dutifully trained ahead of him as Felicity rustles around just out of sight. 

“Well, I can hardly wander through the forest in all these skirts, Roy Harper,” she responds. 

Oliver’s heart beats a little faster in his chest with the knowledge that this amazing woman is simply changing behind them. He’s a soldier. He’s seen men change in front of him. Hell, Sara Lance, when he had discovered her identity, was more than willing to change in his presence with little deference to the fact that he was a man and she a woman.  

“You can’t just change out in the open!” Roy sputters, face turning bright red as he glances at Oliver for confirmation. 

Oliver just shakes his head, unable to banish his current smile. “Roy, you and I have changed in far worse spots.” 

“That was different!” 

“Why?” Oliver quirks an eyebrow at his squire. He gets it. He does. It goes against everything society tells them, but he has had far too much exposure to strong women to doubt they can’t do anything they want to. 

“Because she’s a lady!” 

Oliver shakes his head. “She’s a lady with lock picks and a band of thieves who protect travellers through the wood. She’s remarkable.” 

“Thank you for remarking on it.” Felicity says right behind him. 

Oliver jumps, startled by her proximity. Whatever words he may have conjured to respond are washed away as he gets a good look at her appearance. She didn’t just remove the petticoats that hindered her walk. Her entire wardrobe has been transformed. Gone is the flowing, heavy dress of a lady and in its place are breeches and a loose shirt, held to her body with a laced bodice. For a brief moment, Oliver’s mind conjures a vision of her in his shirt, but he quickly suppresses it. 

“Lis! For the love of all that is holy, what are you wearing?” 

Felicity replies glibly, “I would have thought you knew what breeches were, Roy Harper.” She slings a quiver over her shoulder and grabs a neatly folded parcel of fabric. “Ready?” 

“You cannot walk around the forest like that! You’re practically naked and practically my sister. I am honor bound to fight any man who sees you.” 

His squire is exceptionally bold today, which isn’t much of a change in truth save that he has rarely seen Roy so protective of a woman. 

“And is the good Lord Oliver Queen of Starling so to honor bound to defend his sister when she is seen out in public without skirts? Because I confess that he will then be very busy fighting many a person within our shire, least of all you, his faithful squire. Don’t think I missed your wandering eyes, brother mine. At least Starling has the courtesy to avoid leering.” 

He doesn’t know whether he should be irked with Roy for staring at his baby sister or embarrassed for being caught looking at Felicity. He settles for glaring at his squire. He’s more familiar with that action after all.

Roy seems to realize the hole he’s stepped in. “Well, you should both be wearing skirts. It isn’t decent to be running around in men’s clothes.” 

“Aye?” Felicity tilts her head and steps closer. “I find them quite comfortable. Becoming, even.” 

Her words pull at his control and Oliver’s eyes wander back to her against his will, to his detriment. One look - he thinks to himself, just one - could not ruin him. He knew she was beautiful, had glimpsed those legs as they travelled through the forest. But there was nothing to prepare him for the sight in front of him. Oliver chokes on his tongue as he looks down at her legs and then her derriere. 

Just as quickly, his eyes shoot back up to her face. Her blue eyes are locked right on his. He could get lost in those eyes, bluer than the sky and more lively than a brook. Light dances in her eyes, warming him with their radiance. 

His hands tingle with the need to touch her, to verify her existence, to assure himself that she is not a sprite conjured by his imagination. He wants to dance with her once more, but not in a court dance, in a village dance where she can laugh and spin to her heart’s content. He wants to see her laugh. 

… 

Felicity was in way over her head. She had simply meant to tease Roy, to reprimand him for forgetting that she was her own person, to get him to remember. She’d been pleasantly surprised by Oliver’s calm acceptance of her change. She was a little disappointed by how his gaze didn’t linger. She is aware of how she looks in the breeches and is rather proud of how she fills them out. 

As soon as Felicity has Oliver’s attention though, she realizes her mistake. 

She found him attractive and enticing before, but that is nothing to what she finds now. His eyes burn her in their intensity, locked on her own in a surprising turn of events. She had expected his eyes to linger lower – on her now exposed legs – but they had quickly lifted to her face.

She was falling for him, far too quickly. Here was a man who had learned all her secrets in a matter of days and wasn’t running for the hills. In fact, he seemed to respect her even more for each reveal. He respected her, not just as a lady, but as the protector of the villagers in the shire. That alone could go to a woman’s head.

He valued  _ her _ as much – if not more – than her looks. It was a heady feeling.

“We…we should head back to Nottingham before you’re missed.” She needs to keep her wits about her. Getting all ninny-headed over a man now would be unpardonable. “We don’t need the Sheriff coming looking for you.” 

Oliver shakes his head. “I doubt he would spare the men.” 

“You’re right. His life would probably be easier if you just disappeared. You’re a hero who returned from the Holy Land, presumably with King Richard’s blessing, which threatens his position. For all he knows, you could write to Richard and he would grant your land back. Then where would he be? Not in a good spot, I daresay. Father and Walter tried their hardest to preserve the people of Starling, but when Moira capitulated there was little they could do.” 

“She didn’t go with Malcolm willingly?” 

Felicity frowns as her head swings back to Oliver. “Do you not know about your parents’ marriage?” 

“It was arranged,” he says slowly. 

“You really don’t know?”  Felicity stops to stare at him in amazement. 

“I know their marriage wasn’t the happiest.  Thea being Malcolm’s daughter makes that more poignant, but that just made them like every other noble couple out there.” 

He really doesn’t know. It shocks her, throws her off her course, to realize that Oliver Queen wasn’t there to witness one of the most humanizing times in his mother’s life. Felicity was of the opinion - the very popular opinion - that Moira Merlyn was terrifying. It should be noted that Moira Queen was equally scary, but there was ever only one time when Felicity had actually been able to relate to the woman. 

“Your mother was in love with Walter Steele.” 

Oliver blinks. “My father’s steward?” 

“And my mentor,” Felicity adds. The man taught her after her father left, encouraged her creative mind, taught her maths. “But yes. Moira and Walter. Your father knew. I think he even encouraged it. But when he died, something happened.” She shrugs. “I don’t know what. Thea thinks Malcolm threatened her somehow, but I don’t know for sure. All I know is that Walter offered to marry your mother and then a week later she’s marrying Malcolm for all the shire to see.”

“So he coerced her.” 

Now there’s a tricky thought. “We haven’t found anything to prove that, and it’s not like your mother would advertise that fact.” Felicity starts to walk again, Oliver beside her this time. “She’s not exactly on our side, but I get the feeling that if she really wanted Thea back that badly,  she would be trying a lot harder.” 

Oliver nods. “My mother was never one to let anything stand in her way.” 

Felicity nods in agreement, but falls silent. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter whether Moira agrees with Malcolm or not. She’s complicit with his villainy in her silence. Her reasons why matter little when the rest of the shire suffers under Malcolm. She could have been a beacon of hope, but has relegated herself to a pretty portrait. 

Not that she would say that to Oliver or Thea for that matter. Whatever Moira was, she was still their mother. Goodness knows Donna Lance has her faults, but that doesn’t mean Felicity would ever turn against her own blood. 

If her mother was evil though… 

The very thought is laughable. Donna Ball-of-Sunshine Lance couldn’t be mean-hearted if she tried. The worst she got was annoying in her exuberance. 

“You don’t like my mother.” 

Felicity stops.  _ Did she say some of that out loud? _ She doesn’t think so. Usually she has a vague sense of what she actually speaks, just enough that she’s mortified, but this time she’s certain no words leaked out. 

“You had a look on your face,” Oliver explains. He points to the center of her forehead. “Your eyebrows crinkled together like you were deep in thought.” 

Her fingertips brush the crease, as if to dispel the thoughts. “Oh, no...your mother and I have a...mutual...distrust...of each other.” Moira knows she helped Thea is what it boils down to. Felicity was a common girl, raised above her station by her mother’s marriage, who befriended and kidnapped her only daughter. And Felicity wasn’t exactly impressed with Moira’s indifference to Malcolm’s actions. 

“No one has ever called my mother selfless,” Oliver concedes. “And yes, you did say that last part aloud.” 

That oversight is cringe-worthy. “You’d think that with all of my work with the Birds, I’d be better at controlling what comes out of my mouth.” 

Oliver chuckles. “Right. The Birds of Prey.” He actually sounds impressed. “What exactly does your group do?” Oliver asks in a low voice as he ducks under a low-hanging branch, glancing back at her with curious eyes. “Steal food from the Sheriff and his men? Save travellers from harassment? Break into random rooms in the castle?” 

Felicity grins. “I try to pick at least one lock each time I visit the castle. Can’t let my skills get rusty, now can I?” 

“Of course not!” 

Oliver’s smile could outshine the sun any day. Felicity knows the moment she sees it that whatever hope she may have harbored about keeping her relationship with this man platonic are long gone. That grin on his face goes straight to her heart and makes itself at home in her soul. The sun will never make her feel as warm now without such an expression on Oliver’s face, especially when his eyes are locked on hers with that soft warm gaze. 

“We’ve been known to rob a noble or two,” Felicity continues, “and we do what we can to keep the people fed and their taxes paid. As long as we keep them out of the Sheriff’s cells, we haven’t had trouble. We’ve managed to rescue a couple from the dungeon, but it’s much riskier.” 

“And the...Birds, they live in the woods? What about their families?” 

Fierce protectiveness overrides her unexpected ease. Oliver Queen just manages to slip right past her defenses, but she can’t leave her Birds vulnerable, not to him or anyone else. “Why would you ask that?” 

He pauses. “Sorry. I didn’t aim to pry. Thea told me why she left, but the other birds...It seems like that many girls disappearing would be missed.” 

She might still be wary, but there’s not much he can do with the information anyway. “They’re orphans, or close to it.” Any life they may have had would have condemned them. They would be beggars or prostitutes, punching bags. “They chose this.” 

Oliver chuckles. “I don’t doubt that. Though I am surprised at the lack of men in your company. I would have thought more of them would want to fight.” 

Felicity shrugs. “What can I say? Most men don’t want to listen to a woman.” 

“Ah.” Oliver nods. 

He falls silent, but Felicity can see the questions stewing just under the surface. “You may as well ask,” she says. “I can practically hear you thinking.” 

“The Birds? How did you get started?” 

Felicity grins. “Now that’s a good story. It started with Sara Lance, although she’ll say it started with me. She left us about five years ago to-” 

“Go to the Holy Land,” he finishes. “Aye, I know, I saw her there.” 

“She made it!” Felicity spins to face him, cheeks aching from her smile. “She always said she would, but we never heard from her…” 

“Aye. She dressed as a soldier, but I recognized her.” Oliver walks up to her, running a hand through his hair and pushing his hood back. “I lost track of her during the Battle of Lian Yu. I haven’t seen her since.” 

Felicity grimaces. “Laurel will be happy to know she reached her destination. That’s more than we knew before.” 

“But it does not replace her returning home,” Oliver says softly, a continuation of her internal thought. 

That would be the issue, now, would it not? Sara had left, abandoned them in search of her own passions. She was off to fight bigger battles. However, her mode of communication was non-existent, a continuous blight on her family, at least those who knew how and why she had run away. If Sara were dead… 

“Hey.” Oliver’s hand lands on her cheek and jars Felicity from her thoughts. He’s closer than before, crouched over so the blue of his eyes can stare directly into her soul. Her sorrow is mirrored in those gorgeous eyes that gleam like a still pond reflecting a starry sky. “Sara is a survivor. She will find her way home eventually.” 

With the grace of the heavens, he may be right. Felicity, for one, has never stopped believing that Sara will return, or at least some day get around to putting ink on a page to finally assure them of her continued existence on the Earth. It does help that Felicity knows Sara, knows the extraordinary lengths her sister will go to in order to survive. 

“I hope you’re right.” 

Oliver brushes away a stray tear and smiles, face lively with amusement once more. “Aye. Of course I am.” He straightens, giving them some distance, distance Felicity could honestly do without. “And I think Roy and I can find out way home from here.” 

With a tilt of her head and a snort, Felicity expresses her doubt, which Oliver obviously takes for a challenge as he turns and forges ahead through the underbrush. Roy forges after the rightful Lord of Starling with an annoyed glare at Felicity. He may be unimpressed with her change of attire and shameless antics, but Felicity can not find a trace of regret. She has finally found someone who understands her crusade. 

Laurel - kind-hearted, caring Laurel - wants to aid the peasants, but she still sees herself as firmly above them. She would never prostrate herself to anyone unless their castes were evidently above hers. She helps because they are lowly, because she feels bad for them. 

Evelyn and Sin...they do this to live. Their lives as Birds of Prey teach them valuable skills, allow them to be productive members of a group. It gives them agency. Their ability to help others is a bonus. And though she’ll never admit it, Evelyn does enjoy the warm feeling that wells in her soul when she helps others. 

Thea became a Bird as an act of rebellion, a visceral act against her parents. Then the Birds became her home, but Oliver…

How is it that Oliver Queen can sweep into her life and manage to understand her to her very soul?  Without trying, he gets her. Her mother, bless her soul, tries. But neither her nor Laurel are compelled by that singular desire to help all without any regard for self, not the way Felicity is. They’re far from unfeeling, but neither are compelled by that same unnameable feeling to self-sacrifice. They question her desire to do so, constantly. Yet Oliver, he accepts every facet of her, without question.  

Just when she thought she would never find love, the perfect one appears. Once upon a time, she thought Sara could be that person, as unpalatable as that was to society. Her heart would have been happy. Sara’s leaving had put a crack in her heart, a crack that is finally starting to heal. 

She hopes he sticks around.

… 


	6. Trouble Brews

**Chapter 6**

“What is the meaning of this?” Oliver demands as he throws open the double doors into the dining hall. He hadn’t taken the time to make sure the target of his anger was still in the room prior to his outburst, still angry with the treatment shown to him and Roy upon their return to the castle the night before. He had expected Malcolm, at the very least, and had been prepared to face off against Thomas and his goons at the worst. The goons were minions, fit to intimidate but little else.

That said, he had no desire to fight his former friend, a man he remembers having a soft heart.

To come bursting into the room to simply his mother and a serving girl, though, was unexpected. Unbidden, Felicity’s revelation of her relationship with Walter Steele springs to his mind. He’d pondered it last night, locked as he had been in his room, and had come to the conclusion that there was more than a little truth in it. His mother and father had both held the man in great esteem, and if his parents’ relationship was indeed as complex as he is starting to believe, it wasn’t unexpected.

However, her choice to take Malcolm as her husband after Robert’s death raises more questions, changes the way he has to approach his own mother, the woman he thought he could always trust. The suspicion he must treat her with feels perverse, inherently against everything he knows. His mother only ever acted to protect her family. She could be cold, but she loved fiercely.

So why would she betray her love for Walter?

His mother blinks at him for a moment before she lowers her fork and pats at her lips with a napkin. “I am afraid you will need to elaborate, my beautiful boy. I have no inkling as to what you could be referring.”

If only he could believe her. “Roy,” he grits out through clenched teeth, “my squire, who was locked in your dungeon when we returned to the castle. Why?”

A flicker in her eyes belies her regret even though it's gone an instant later and nothing else shows anything less than indifference. “You shall have to bring your inquiry to Malcolm, but from what I understand, it was discovered that your man was a thief who ran away from the law and apparently found you in the Holy Lands. Regrettably, it is Malcolm’s duty to uphold the law…unless you have some way to prove his innocence…”

Alas, that would be folly. Roy made no secret of his past and Oliver had no doubt Malcolm had managed to find a credible witness. In all truth, it mattered little. Truth or not, Malcolm appeared determined to find out what they had been doing yesterday. If his questions last night were any indication, he wanted to know about what happened in Sherwood Forest.

But how desperate was he to get that information?

“Where can I find Malcolm?”

“I believe he’s in the courtyard.” Her last words are shouted at his retreating back: “but perhaps you should wait until after he returns!”

That would be a fine idea, if he actually had the time to wait, but he refuses to leave his comrade in arms in a cage for one moment longer than necessary. He flies down the halls, itching for a weapon since all of his had mysteriously been stolen from his room while he was out yesterday. Malcolm doesn’t trust him. Not even slightly.

The courtyard is teeming with Sheriff’s men, a wash of armor in varying ranges of filth and muck. The clang of metal resonates within the stone walls. In the corner, an armorer distributes swords and daggers, another shields. It looks like a raiding party, and in the thick of it: Malcolm.

“Gather the dogs! Today failure is not an option! We will catch those cowards within the forest and return my beloved daughter to us.” Malcolm yanks on his gloves before he swings himself up into his saddle. “Today will be the death of the Birds of Prey.”

“Malcolm!” Oliver shouts over the cheers of what appears to be the entire Sheriff’s garrison.

Heads turn as he moves through the crowd. It feels almost like the war: so many bodies crushed in a small space, preparing for battle. But here the enemy isn’t screaming on the other side of an open field. Here the enemy is a gang of girls – women – fighting for justice. 

“Ah! Oliver, would you like to join us?” Malcolm declaims, drawing the eyes of all his men. “We’re on a hunt for villainous outlaws.”

A malicious glint in Malcolm’s eye stops him from growling in response. He manages a more civil response through gritted teeth: “I am more worried about my man in your dungeon. Roy Harper. I demand his release. ”

“Of course,” Malcolm agrees, amiable enough. It steals the wind from Oliver’s sails, rips the anger from his tense frame. He’s reminded of fox as Malcolm smiles down at him, there’s a sly glint to his eyes. “I assume you have reason for this demand.”

Oliver straightens, hands curling into fists as his fears are confirmed. This is a ploy, Malcolm’s way of toying with him and Roy, another way to reinforce Oliver’s lack of power in his current situation. His words are hard as he forces them out before Malcolm and his gathered minions. “He has served me faithfully these past several years - saved my life on more than one occasion. I believe that he has been redeemed of his misdeeds of the past in service to his lord.”

Malcolm raises an eyebrow. “Howe’er, you’re not a lord, Oliver. You could barely be considered a knight.” 

If he had a sword in his hand, he could cleave Malcolm’s head from his body, damn the consequences.

“As it is your man stands accused a theft, with several witnesses.” This is Malcolm gloating, Oliver realizes. He knows he’s in the right, that he can make the charges stick and Oliver is helpless to stop him. “One even claims possible treason. I worry for your judgment, Oliver, to choose such a man as your squire. He will face trial, but I would suggest you part ways with him…or however much of him is left. You’re welcome to pick a new squire from among my men.”

So that is what Malcolm is going to do then: cut him off from his only support and get one of his men to infiltrate Oliver’s quarters.

“I would appreciate that, Malcolm, but I must beg off for today. It seems you have the matter well in hand, and I would like to spend some time catching up with my mother.”

Malcolm stares for a long, hard moment at Oliver, as if long contemplation will allow him to understand Oliver to his very soul. The moment drags on for longer than it should. Ire and newfound respect war in Malcolm’s eyes as he stares down at the soldier in front of him. As loathe as he is to admit it, the Oliver that returned is not the witless boy who left. 

“Your mother would appreciate the company,” Malcolm finally says evenly. 

Oliver bows slightly at the waist and waits for Malcolm to lead his men off on their hunt before straightening. It’s not the chill of the morning air that sends a shiver up his spine. His breath fogs in the air as he contemplates his choices. He could break into the prison while Malcolm is preoccupied with hunting down the Birds. But both he and Roy would have to go on the run for Malcolm would surely pin the crime on him. 

Or he could warn the Birds and get them to help him free Roy. Which would leave Roy to Malcolm’s whims for an indefinite amount of time. 

There is no time to dally on his options. Whatever he decides, he must act quickly. As much as his loyalty to his squire - the man who fought beside him in the Holy Lands - demands his attention, he knows little to nothing about Malcolm’s prison. He only overheard a discussion between Malcolm and her jailer about interrogation techniques that made even him squirm after everything he was forced to do in the Holy Lands. 

The Birds will have to be first. 

The stench of livestock clogs his nose as he heads toward the stables. He grabs the arm of the first passing stable boy that brushes past him. “Pardon, but I was wondering who to talk to about getting my horse saddled.” 

Barely over the age of ten, the boy blinks up at Oliver, mouth falling open. “Uh...that would be me, sir.” 

“Aye! And what would your name be, boy?” There’s something disconcertingly familiar in the boy’s face as he stares back at Oliver. 

“W-w-william, sir.” 

“Do you know which horse is mine, William?” 

His head bobs up in down, nerves transitioning into excitement as Oliver smiles in encouragement. 

“Think you can get her ready?” 

“Absolutely, sir!” William rushes off, eager to please himself and Oliver frowns at his retreating back. For a moment there he was reminded of his days racing around the stable back in Starling. 

“Do you know that boy, Oliver?” 

He starts, turning to face his mother where she watches him with narrowed eyes. “If you mean his name, it’s William as he was so kind to share.” 

His mother’s hiding something, her lips pursed as she contemplates whether to push the issue. 

“He can’t be much more than ten now, and I wasn’t the type to pay attention to babes before I left,” Oliver continues slowly, wondering what his mother knows of Malcolm’s stable boy. 

“He’s not quite ten,” Moira admits. “I wasn’t thinking when you asked.” 

“Mother, what aren’t you telling me?” The question bubbles out of him, unbidden. “Since I’ve returned it feels like there’s more happening here that no one will tell me.” 

She sighs. “Oh, my boy, my beautiful boy.” Her hand cups his cheek and Oliver’s forced to wonder if he grew even taller while he was away or if his mother has always been this small. “I cannot bear to have you think ill of me.” 

“Never,” he promises in a whisper. “I’m just lost.” 

“Oliver, you must find Thea. Before Malcolm does. She’s in the forest-” 

“I know.” He squeezes her hand as he takes a step back. “I saw her when I went to visit Walter.” Only because he’s looking for it does he see Moira blink in surprise and then blink back a tear. 

“You did?” 

“I don’t know why you married Malcolm, Mother, but I assume it had to do with protecting Thea.” He searches her eyes and is met with formidable ice blue as she straightens her spine. 

“Everything I do is to protect my children. I promise one day you will understand.”

Oliver shakes his head. “You don’t need to explain. I just need you to tell Malcolm that I was here with you all day, and I promise I will do all in my power to protect her from Malcolm’s men combing the forest.” 

“Be careful, Oliver.” 

Oliver ruffles William’s hair before taking his horse’s reins. “I’ll do my best.” 

He’s weaponless, armorless, and not sure how to find the Birds before Malcolm does. His only advantage is that he knows who they are. He knows where to find their leaders. 

“Oliver.” Moira’s voice is soft, firm but quiet enough to float away on the breeze. “In doing this, you may alienate Malcolm, one of the few allies you have.” 

For a moment, Oliver freezes, perched on his horse, but not quite seated in the saddle. He hovers for that instant between self-preservation and morality. His heritage - Starling - had been stolen from him if you believed the rumors. If anyone could help him regain his title, it would be Malcolm. That title would grant him, his mother, and Thea a measure of security outside Malcolm Merlyn. 

But would Malcolm ever help him do that? 

And was his own plight more important than the people of Nottinghamshire? There was an argument to be made that he could help them better with his title restored, but the truth was that the people cared little if he had the title in actuality or not. And he could not bear becoming part of a corrupt system to do so. 

Oliver settles into his saddle. “I’ll return when I can, Mother.” To any onlooker it might look like a simple by-your-leave, a casual goodbye between mother and son. However, the emotions in Moira’s eyes are too intense. They seem to shimmer with unsaid salutations, the set of her mouth downturned so her regal smile is dimmed, weighed down. 

Oliver got his eyes from his mother. His too glisten with unsaid responses, with the awareness that if he crosses Malcolm  he won’t be coming back to his mother. He can’t do this with her blessing. If he gets caught, he’s on his own. 

It’s harder to ride away from his mother now than it was ten years ago, despite them  not being close now. Last time he left under the cover of darkness, driven by a deep-seated anger and annoyance toward his father. Now he’s leaving his mother for his sister, for Roy, and for the women doing incredible things for the peasants. He’s not travelling leagues from home, but it feels like a larger gap,  as definitive as cutting ties completely. 

He knows without a doubt that he will never spend another night in that castle, not while Malcolm is Sheriff. It’s goodbye.  

For now. 

Under him Zephyra spurs into a gallop as Oliver’s prodding. He directs her toward the old Sheriff’s home. Quentin Lance won’t be happy to see him,  not after he spurned Laurel. He has to brace himself for that. 

He slows Zephyra to a walk as they come into sight of the house. It’s been ten years, but the house is still in good repair, unlike the huts in Starling. Quentin still has the respect of his people, still has his position in society, if not his title. A lithe figure slides out the door as Oliver approaches, moving to meet him halfway. 

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Laurel hisses, voice low so it doesn’t carry to the dark house. Her features are contorted in barely contained anger. He might not have had the warmest welcome from Laurel - and had not expected it - but this seems rather delayed from his point of view. “You cannot be here. My father would have you arrested on sight.” 

It was far too much to hope that Quentin would let bygones be. “I need to speak to you and Felicity.” 

“So speak.” 

Oliver’s eyes dart around for a familiar blonde. When she fails to appear from the shadows, his gaze drifts back to Laurel. She glares defiantly back, arms crossed over her chest. He shall not see Felicity today then, seems a disappointment. “Malcolm is leading his men into the woods on a hunt for the Birds of Prey. He’s already got Roy locked up. If he wasn’t married to my mother, I would have been next.” 

“The Birds will be fine. We’ve weathered their searches before.” 

Oliver runs a hand over his jaw. The look in Malcolm’s eyes this morning was bordering on madness. “Malcolm will charge anyone he catches with treason. He’s going to hang them. That’s if he even brings them in alive. You and Felicity need to warn the others.”

Laurel shifts, her arms loosening as her defiant expression finally shifts to something wary. “They will be fine. They should be out of the woods soon anyway.” 

“Then they should stay out, find somewhere in the city to stay, someone to take them in.” He insists. Laurel’s reactions do not sit right with him. There is something she’s hiding from him. Should she not be more worried about a possible incursion on Sherwood Forest? More uncomfortable about the unknown status of her friends? 

“I am certain they will be fine.” 

“How can you be so cavalier?” He demands, tired of following her lead. It is beyond frustrating. 

“Because I am  _ engaged _ , Oliver. Thomas proposed last night. I cannot risk publicly moving against my future family.” 

Oliver starts. That is unexpected. No, he corrects, not unexpected. Thomas was bound to ask for Laurel’s hand eventually. It is the timing that is unexpected. It also directly contradicts her work with the Birds. “What about Thea? Evelyn? Sin?” 

“Felicity will care for them,” Laurel insists. “She is with them now.” 

Oliver freezes. “I thought you said they were in the forest.” 

Laurel breaks his gaze then. She brushes loose hair behind her ear as she finds the ground particularly interesting. “She lives there now.” She turns away now, an exhale escaping her. “She said she could not watch as I gave myself to the son of a devil.” 

“So you just let her run off?” 

“What was I supposed to do?” Laurel demands. Her voice raises louder than she probably intended for a split second before it returns to the same angry whisper. “She made her decision and I made mine. I couldn’t spend my whole life fighting an endless fight. She saw it differently.” 

Oliver closes his eyes. Of course she did. Of course the woman currently preoccupying his mind has a deep-seated need to help others, even at the detriment of herself. “Where is she?” 

Laurel chews on her lip nervously, not capitulating over what appears to be a nonsensical sense of loyalty to a band that is currently in very real danger as Oliver sees it. Secrecy will not help matters. 

“Laurel,” he growls in warning. 

His heart sinks as her guilty eyes finally meet his. 

… 

Felicity groans as she stretches her hands over her head. There’s an ache in her back where there was a rock poking into her spine for most of the night. Perhaps turning down the offer of sharing a mattress with one of the other birds was negligently prideful on her part. She just wanted to prove that she’s here for all of it: the good and the bad. She shan’t have a cot until she has crafted one for herself. 

Thea tosses her a hunk of bread as Felicity steps out from under the canopy. It’s mere luck that she catches it after a quick fumble instead of dropping it in her early morning stupor. 

“Good morrow, my lady,” Thea teases with a smirk. “Didst thou sleep well?” 

Felicity drops to the ground beside her. “I shall prevail. Methinks I should craft floating beds we could suspend from the trees. ‘Twould dismiss the need for beds and make our travel lighter.” 

She contemplates the trees around them. There’s the danger of falling out, but the pain in her back does little to dissuade her from the idea. Thea scrunches her nose as she looks at the surrounding woods. 

“I thought you were afeared of heights?” 

“Aye, that does put a damper in my plans.” She frowns, not quite willing to let the idea go just yet. “Mayhaps not so far off the ground.” 

“What are you going on about?” Sin asks as she joins them by the empty firepit. 

“Felicity is trying to figure out a way to bypass sleeping on the ground.” Thea leans back against a tree. “She found Ebenezer last night.” 

Sin snorts. 

“Ebenezer?” Felicity can’t help the question. 

“That’s what she named the rock,” Sin supplies, ripping herself off a hunk of bread from the loaf in front of Thea. “We’ve all slept on it at one point or another. Evelyn swore she would claw it from the ground, but it’s a far bigger rock than she anticipated.” 

Felicity nods. “Where is Evie?” 

“On patrol,” Thea answers, passing out cheese now. 

“And by that, she means that Evie’s visiting a young man currently visiting Nottingham from London or something.” Sin grins. 

Felicity smiles. “So she’s smitten?” 

“Aye. We’ll collect her later when we head into the city. And then you can see her act like a ninny. ‘Tis quite precious.” 

There are laughs to go around as the conversation moves on to other mundane topics, slowly dragging Felicity’s mind off the pulsing point of pain in her side. They talk about the migration of animals, a couple desperate hunters they saved from poaching, a new clearing that could make a nice hideout. 

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” Thea says, growing somber. “The villagers.”

“What of them?” Felicity asks, brows drawn together.

Sin and Thea exchange a look. “It happened last time we left gifts for them. A woman came up to us, asked us to deliver a message to the Birds of Prey: her husband was unjustly arrested when they couldn’t pay their taxes. Even with our assistance she couldn’t afford to pay bail and feed her children. We’ve been keeping an eye on them, but the children are too young to help with the farmwork and the woman is being run ragged.” 

Felicity sighs. It’s the sixth plight they’ve heard of in half as many weeks. As their infamy grows, the people reach out to them more. If they had more resources, they could do more. Felicity and Laurel had tried to get Thomas to give them a tour of the prisons. Apparently it wasn’t fit for ladies. 

“Pass the word on that we’ll look into it.” 

“Felicity,” Thea warns. “We do what we can, but let’s not give the people false hope. You and Laurel barely escaped when you stopped the hanging of that farmhand. And now he’s an escaped criminal. He had to leave behind everything he knew anyway.” 

“Thea, the whole point of this endeavor is to help people, aye?” Felicity rises, mind already on the dungeons of Nottingham Castle and all the entrances and exits, the workers, the busiest times of day and the quietest. She has the vague idea of a plan, but they would need more bodies…

“Felicity…” 

“The trouble is that she cannot pay the bail, taxes, and feed her children? Then it follows that even a slight release of those tensions should help.” She pauses, a half-formed plan in her head. “We should try to help as we can with food and money, but eventually we’re going to have to do something about the people being jailed.” 

Thea sits. “I was worried you would say that.” 

Sin shoots her a glare. “We did not want to promise anything without talking to you first.” 

Felicity lets out a long breath. In her mind she would have an adjustment period she could work with, would slowly adjust and come to terms with her new life as an outlaw. There will be no warm, dry bed for her to come to at night, no roof or fire in a hearth. 

Felicity stifles a yawn as she forces herself to stand and take a bracing breath of cool, fresh air. Or perhaps she simply must needs adjust to the new sleep schedule. “It’s going to require a lot more focus, planning. Beyond anything we’ve ever tried. It wouldn’t just be the occasional cart. We would have to actively rob the corrupt and defend the people. If we can’t break them out of jail, we need to prevent it from happening in the first place.” 

The girls share another glance. Thea sighs. “That sounds like a lot of work.” 

“I think we should be a little more realistic,” Sin says diplomatically. 

“Or just better organized,” Felicity observes, her brain already working on an early warning system to help them find corrupt travellers intruding on their forest. Oh! And a protocol for when the Sheriff comes knocking, as he is bound to do. 

The discomfort in her companions jars her from her plans. “Sin...Thea…” 

“We have discussed this - Sin, Evie, and I,” Thea explains. “We want to help more...However that would require us to grow this enterprise. Four of us cannot support all the villages in the area.”

Felicity looks between the two girls. Sin - usually the more confrontational - is not meeting her eyes. Felicity’s lips twitch. “And who did you have in mind?” 

The tension in the air dissipates in an instant, both girls brightening. 

“Well, I have been speaking with Walter Steele, as you know,” Thea starts, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet. “He has assisted me in meeting with trustworthy potential Birds, as Will Scarlet, of course, not the infamously absconded Thea Queen.” 

Felicity nods. “It does make sense. He believes in what we do. I did try to get him to join the cause, but he refused.” For unspecified reasons that Felicity suspected had everything to do with Moira Queen. He remains a steadfast ally to this day. Felicity paces, a physical manifestation of her brain processing the new development. “Did any good come from the meetings?” 

Thea grimaces and Sin picks up the story: 

“That’s the problem: the people who have been disappearing are the men we met with.” 

Felicity spins so fast to face the girls that her whole world tilts for a moment after she’s stopped the motion. “A direct correlation?” 

“Aye,” Thea answers. “A day or two after our meet, they are collected by my darling half-brother for various reasons ranging from mildly plausible to astonishing fantasy. Walter isn’t a rat, so someone must be reporting on Will Scarlet’s whereabouts.” 

“Which means everyone you’ve talked to is in danger,” Felicity continues, “and will continue to be in danger until we find the culprit. Who was the last person you spoke to?” 

“It was Lyla, the blacksmith’s wife,” Sin says, jumping to  her feet. “Two days ago. We have to warn her-” 

“WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!” 

Felicity spins toward the shout, drawing a knife to fling at the intruder before she recognizes Evelyn’s voice. 

The girl in question breathes hard, crouched over. “Sheriff...men...forest…” 

Sin and Thea jump into action, gathering their possessions. Thea shoves a quiver into Felicity’s hands and they cover their shelter with branches. 

“Where did you see them?” Felicity asks, stepping into a skirt. She tucks it up under her bodice and tightens it before hiking the skirt up so she won’t step on the front of it while running, but can pull it down when they make it into the village as to avoid suspicion. 

“They came stampeding through Nottingham about thirty minutes ago. I got here as fast as I could. Rory’s back by the road keeping look out.” Evelyn accepts her pack from Sin and starts to head back to the road. 

“Rory? Is this the young man I’ve heard so much about?” Felicity teases, falling into step behind Evelyn. 

It might be her imagination that Evie’s face flushes slightly and she stumbles a step. She does manage a haughty scowl over her shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How’s that dethroned lord of yours?” 

Felicity purses her lips. Not that it’s any of Evelyn’s business, but she’s seen no more than passing glances of Oliver since she escorted him from the forest. It has ached her heart more than she would like to admit. “Point taken.” 

“We should split up,” Thea advises, falling into step with Felicity. “Someone needs to warn Lyla, but someone else needs to warn the Wests. I’m worried Barry Allen might get himself into trouble. He’s been pestering Walter since Joe was taken into custody.” 

“Joe West?” Felicity freezes at the familiar name, the name of a man who had once helped her out of a tight spot with some sheriff’s men. He was a member of Quentin’s guard, one of the many displaced when Malcolm became the new sheriff. “Oh, poor Iris. Poor Barry.” 

Felicity plays with the handle of the knife in her hand. “Thea, you and Sin go to Walter, give him a heads up and then head to Nottingham. Put away Will Scarlet for now and act as yourself. That carries its own risk, however Will is recognizable now. 

“Evie, you take that boy of yours and head to Leaford Manor, warn Laurel about this development. She should have a heads up, just in case,” Felicity continues. The whole scenario plays out in her head. “If anyone stops you, you’re approaching Quentin to ask for his blessing on your marriage, so you might get approval from Malcolm. It shouldn’t look suspicious.” 

“That leave you to warn Lyla,” Thea concludes. “Art thou sure? ‘Tis not the place for a proper lady.” 

“Well, it just so happens, that i am in need of a commission for a gift for my husband.” Felicity holds up her knife with a pout. “I just want to know who much a new pommel for his favorite dagger will cost.” 

Sin snorts, Thea rolls her eyes, and Evelyn grins. 

“That’s a terrible excuse,” Sin says. 

“Lyla is not going to believe a word out of your mouth,” Thea adds. 

Felicity’s nose scrunches at the loathsome truth. Her inability to lie is a longstanding fact she wishes she could get better at. “It shouldn’t matter because I shall tell Lyla the truth, and I can lie convincingly enough. I have proven it time and again. When it must be done, I can tell a falsehood.” 

The Birds look skeptical. Evelyn shrugs. “Rory and I will play our parts.” 

Sin nods. “Thea and I will speak to Walter. Just get Lyla out of there. She’s got a husband and son with another little one on the way.” 

Felicity nods. “I’ll get them all out if I have to. I’ll find you all at the Rusty Knife.” She stands there for a moment, perched partially on a boulder, as the rest of her Birds head toward the road. Her heart’s in her throat, unsatisfied with the current course of action. It’s their best option. Sara would approve. Felicity was the least safe. She protected her people, that was the important part.  

She puts one foot in front of the other, moving step by step down the footpath. It’s not well-used, a path she only knows by memory, by landmarks along the way. She knows the Diggles. They live on the far side of Starling, moved there not too long after Robert Queen died.  

She’d seen them in passing, but never held a conversation. John Diggle liked to keep to himself and Lyla...she seemed like the type that did not take kindly to injustice. A good ally. Only once had she ever had cause to visit the shop with Quentin, and she’d seen Lyla swing the blacksmith’s hammer with brutal efficiency. 

She hopes she’s in time. 

… 

Oliver’s a hundred yards into the woods when he realizes he has no idea where he’s going. Laurel’s directions, which had seemed so simple at the time, are useless now that he’s actually within the green trees of Sherwood forest. He can tell one type of tree from another, can spot the different trees and rock formations, but there’s no way for him to differentiate one spruce from another, let alone find which one is the ‘large spruce with the arrow scratched into it’. He’s seen three possible etchings so far. He turned at the fourth and largest tree. The next landmark - a rock formation that looks like a dog - proves to be elusive, far past the point where Laurel claimed he would find it. 

He’s the far side of lost, so turned around he could not find the way Laurel pointed him down if he tried. Laurel had told him, if he got lost,  to head west,  that the Birds would find him. He doesn’t really have that luxury. 

Ten minutes later, he knows he’s walking in circles and he’s ready to sit down and admit defeat. He hasn’t found the rock formation and his desperation to find the Birds before Malcolm is messing with his head.

Then he hears movement in the woods behind him. He spins, slowly, to see a hulking man moving through the forest. He walks with purpose and holds himself as a soldier would. He carries a large staff in his hands, using it to help propel his rock as much as it could be a weapon. 

Oliver nods to him as he approaches, choosing to stay seated on the rock where he found himself. He closes his eyes to let the stranger pass without interruption. 

“I need your help.” 

Oliver glances around in surprise, expecting to see one of the Birds behind him, or really anyone else the man could be talking to. Certainly he couldn’t be making conversation with Oliver. “Excuse me?” 

“It’s my wife. The sheriff’s men claim she was caught stealing in the market.  She’s to hang in the morning.” 

“Ah,” Oliver says. “It’s really not me you need to be talking to.” 

The large man straightens to his full, impressive height, muscles rippling as his arms cross his chest. “I was told if I ever needed help to head into Sherwood. Now I need help. The Birds have done a lot of good for the shire. Are you saying you won’t help me now?” 

Oliver really does not want to be on the wrong side of this man’s fists, so he takes a hasty step back. “No. Just that I’m not the person to be talking to.”  

“I am.” 

Oliver nearly jumps out of his skin as Felicity announces her presence, stepping between Oliver and the large man as if she wasn’t nearly half his size. “Never fear,  Mr. Diggle. We will save your wife.” 

He does not know where Felicity came from or how he didn’t see her coming, but he’s relieved to finally see her. 

“Who are you?” The man demands, pointing his staff at Felicity. 

“So they came for Lyla,” Felicity says, without acknowledging his question. “That is unfortunate.  I did not want to have to work this way, but it looks like I have no choice. We need to break into the jail.” She glances between Oliver and the other man. “You two are going to help.” 

She nods succinctly and turns on her heel. “Follow me. We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I really hope you enjoyed it. I wasn't completely satisfied with parts of this chapter, so here's hoping it was a good read!


	7. When the Birds Leave the Forest

**Chapter 7**

“This is a terrible idea.” 

“Peace, Thea,” Felicity hisses from where they crouch behind a low wall across the courtyard from the jail which affords them a clear view to the entrance of the Sheriff's castle. “This plan shall succeed.” 

The girl rolls her eyes and pulls out a small dagger which she starts flipping in her hands, possibly a new gift from Sin. “If you say so, Blondie.”

“If this plan be so problematic, why ever art thou present?” She narrows her eyes at the girl she has rarely known to complain, despite the unruly cards life has dealt her. Through their history as the Birds of prey, Thea was never the sort to wait around for a solid plan. She preferred a broad outline of the course of events, an outline that could be adjusted to each situation, an outline that Felicity had explained several times in the last few hours.

“Someone has to watch thy back.” 

“Aye. Whyever did you think I brought Lord Starling and Master Diggle?” Felicity adjusts her grip on the bow in her hand. “With the feast as a distraction, it should prove simple to liberate those ensconced in the jail.”

“And you trust this John Diggle to protect you? He hardly looks as though he trusts you to rescue his wife.” Thea grumbles. She pulls her dark cloak closer around her to hide the bright red of her garments.

Felicity is forced to nod in agreement. However much it pains her, she must admit that here her revelation as a woman has harmed her standing. Despite her eloquent speech and a display of her archery prowess, Master Diggle still looks to Oliver to lead the expedition. To Oliver’s credit, the man deferrs to her on all matters, even when the question was thrown in his direction. It wasn’t his fault. It was society. However, by the end of the discussion Thea and Felicity were both annoyed by the adherence to gender norms. 

“I think it will take him some time to adjust to the idea that the Birds are women. He seems protective.” Felicity shrugs as her eyes track another guard on his rounds. “You know that it is not he who crafts our weapons but Lyla. Tis tragic that she has been grabbed. If we had not agreed to help, you do know they wouldst have attempted it on their own and that would not have ended well.” 

“So you risk yourself as well. What logic is there in that?” 

“Thea…” 

The younger girl huffs. “Your heart is far too soft for an outlaw.” 

“Hush,” Felicity warns. She shifts among the shadows so she faces the entrance to their little alcove where the cart for market day is stored when not in use. Her legs ache from constant crouching, but she moves behind the carriage, an arrow nocked and ready to fire. 

John Diggle moves into her line of sight and Felicity loosens the tension on her bowstring as he looks around in the shadows for Felicity and Thea. Felicity probes the shadows behind him for any guards. 

“And what did Malcolm say?” Felicity inquires, perhaps taking more pleasure than she should from the surprise that flits over John Diggle’s face. “Assuming you got in to see him. You did see our esteemed Sheriff, did you not?” 

John scowls at her. “Did you know the Sheriff was out hunting the Birds of Prey when we came here?” 

Felicity blinks. “He has not returned?” She turns back to the courtyard. “I suspected there were fewer guards than usual, but I thought he would have given up the hunt by now.” In prior searches for Thea in the woods had ended at nightfall and resumed the next day. The sun has now set and the black of night near. The Sheriff should be home by now. 

“Something is amiss,” she mutters under her breath in the barest whisper. There is a stillness in the silence that she trusts not. ‘Twould be simple enough in this moment to wander into the cells and free those imprisoned, but the Sheriff is far too clever to have left such a large opening to their unsuspecting eyes. Felicity sighs. “We must needs delay our rescue.” 

“We must needs not,” John Diggle counters. His voice rises in ire as he glares down at Felicity. “That be mine wife within those walls and if there be chance I can save her, I will.” 

“John-” 

He shakes off her arms and storms away with a heavy glare for her. Felicity feels the blow like a physical strike. She has not proof that something is amiss beyond her gut, such as it is. Thea rises to stand beside her with a sigh. 

“You didst try.” 

Felicity chews her bottom lip. “I fear this will only end in pain and sorrow.” 

“Let us away,” Thea prompts, seemingly as skittish as Felicity herself. Her eyes dart around the courtyard once more. “Danger lurks here.”  

“What of your brother?” Felicity inquires. She would err if she claimed not to worry about the handsome stranger who continued to stand up for her. Her heart sinks again as she remembers the other man she’s here for. “What of Roy?” 

“Felicity,” Thea says sharply as she grasps her friend’s shoulders, “you and I both know there are other ways to free our friends, ways far less risky than breaking into the dungeon. We shall stay in the city and be back at the sunrise. Malcolm shan’t execute any ally of the Birds without an audience. He loves the show too well.” 

Felicity sighs and nods. “Aye. You have a point.” 

“And it shall give the men a chance to cool their hot heads.” The look Thea gives her is significant, a reminder of all the discussions they’ve had of the other sex. “Let us away,” she repeats with a gentle nudge toward the gates. 

In tandem, they flip their hoods up to obscure their faces as they move around the shadows. Felicity holds her bow behind her as to better blend it with her shadow. Much as before when they arrived, they leave without issue, although Felicity spies a good number of guards eyeing the entrance as though they expect escapees. She and Thea slip through by good fortune. 

“Do not look now, but it appears we have company,” Thea whispers a street later. 

Chills run up Felicity’s spine and she stiffens. It is only her discipline that saves her from revealing herself to whomever follows behind. “Who is it?” 

“A guard, methinks. We should find ourselves in a tavern,” she says succinctly. Thea peels away and heads for the nearest establishment where she proceeds to make as much noise as possible, boasting of the great Will Scarlet and flirting with all the eager young maids. 

Felicity gets herself a tankard, but sips it quietly from the corner where she finally gets a look at the man who was following them. He is a guard, not one she recognizes, but he acts as she does. His eyes search the small, dark room for the second figure he followed from the castle, but they skim over her. 

“What can I do for you, sweets?” The wench leans over the table, blocking the guard’s view of Felicity while giving her an eyeful of cleavage. Felicity raises an eyebrow at Iris West, who just smiles charmingly back at her. “I saw you enter. I figure since Will is the only one making a fuss, you need a distraction.” 

“Actually,” Felicity says, “got a dress I could borrow?” 

Despite their similar size, Felicity finds herself struggling for breath as Iris laces her bodice tight. She doesn’t appreciate the lack or air, nor the outrageous things they appear to do to her breasts. She attempts to pull her chemise up further. 

Iris slaps at her hands. “Cease that. You’re perfect.” 

Felicity huffs. “I feel as if I am about to fall out of it.”

“Which is why it’s perfect,” Iris elaborates as she starts fussing with Felicity’s hair. “Just channel your mother. She knew what to do. Distract them with your bosom and they shan’t remember your face.” 

Felicity sighs and plays with the edge of her shirt. “I suppose you speak true, although, let it be known that I find this the most loathsome part.” 

Iris laughs and pushes her towards the door. “Get you gone, wench!” 

Thea’s eyes alight on Felicity as soon as she saunters back into the pub. She does her best to channel Donna Smoak, the brassiest wench she ever knew. Felicity has never been much of a flirt, but she finds herself with a smile and a wink for most of the patrons who pay her attention. Slowly, far slower than she’d like as she dodges grabbing hands, Felicity finds herself at the table with the guard. 

“Can I get anything for you, good sir?” He barely looks over at her as she approaches and even as he stands before her, he says nothing, just stares at the back of Will Scarlet. 

“Pray, tell me the name of that man there,” he finally says. His dark eyes meet hers, not once glancing down at her chest, and isn’t that a feat? 

She smiles brightly, as if the question didn’t set her on edge. “Oh, why that be Will Scarlet, o’course. He is fast with his compliments and loose with his lips but a good man all the same.” 

“He comes here often?” 

Now that question does set Felicity on edge, but she giggles to cover her unease and leans closer to the soldier as if she shares a great secret. “Nay, ‘tis not so, but my friend Martha works down at the Blue Bird and she swears he is the finest of all the men to look at. But I told Martha, ‘twas not true. That the soldiers who come into the Lively Forresters are much nicer for we see the finest of the Sheriff’s men here.” 

Felicity thinks naught of the words that cross her lips, content to let her babbles carry her away and allow her to sound like the carefree wench she pretends to be. The man seems content to ignore her. She pulls back as he waves at someone by the door. 

“Will ye be needin’ anything else, sir?” She asks again. 

He waves her off with a distracted grunt. Two more guards join him as she passes. Felicity does not like the stormy look on their faces as she slips behind the bar and starts filling pints of ale. She slides one across the bar to Thea. 

“Best slip out the back,” she whispers, keeping an eye on the guards. “Or maybe out the back with one of your willing new friends. 

Thea nods and throws back another gulp of ale before she starts declaiming loudly. Felicity sticks around, helping Iris out in place of the wench - Felicity believes her name is Samantha - who Thea swept away with minutes before. 

The guards grow restless in the corner, but they do not leave their post. Felicity keeps them plied with drink. She suffers more than one leer, several pinches to her person, and a couple groping hands, when a sudden alarm rises from the Sheriff’s castle, the clang of a bell so loud it must wake the whole city. 

Felicity watches the guards stumble away with only one thought: 

_ Fie on you, John Diggle. Now I have to rescue you too. _

… 

Oliver fiddled with the silver fork in his hand as his eyes swept over the room. Despite the large table and Malcolm’s suspicious absence, his mother still sat at the far end of the table while his and Thomas’s plates were down by Malcolm’s empty seat. It left a good two place-setting gap between him and his mother. 

He sighs. “Does this not seem a bit ridiculous to anyone else?” 

Thomas lowers his fork with a shrug. “This is how Father likes us to take our meals. It gives us a sense of decorum.” 

The lack of people sitting in the chairs despite the gross amount of food unsettles him after what he has witnessed in passing days. The entire castle could feast here with them. It is a dreadful waste. 

“I did extend an invitation to the Lance family to join us tonight, but they politely declined upon receiving some family news.” Thomas smiles and Moira returns the sentiment with some equally empty words. 

“That is lovely. Have you spoken to the old Sheriff yet, Thomas?” 

Oliver rolls his eyes and clenches a fist around his fork. ‘Twould be less agonizing if he shoved the pronged utensil into his eye. He cares nothing of this small talk. Thomas will propose to Laurel, Laurel will say yes, and they shall all continue to carry out this bizarre charade. 

Diggle has been out to see Thea and Felicity, but he knows not if they did decide to enter the prisons or not. He was supposed to keep Malcolm occupied until such a time as they could liberate John’s wife and Roy. With Malcolm absent, such plans were dashed. They could still attempt a rescue, but Oliver would not recommend it and had no recourse to advise them against such a choice. 

“And how do you find yourself, Oliver?” His mother draws him out of his thoughts with the simple question. “You disappeared for a good portion of the day.” 

He smiles at her. “I re-acquainted myself with the town today.” 

“You should join us on the search of Sherwood these next days,” Thomas cuts in. His smile seems still to Oliver. He cannot remember a time when they were ever so formal, so driven to rigidly fit within their confines of society. “We could use someone who’s experienced in tracking to help ferret out these Birds.” 

Oliver smiles blandly. “Of course. Although, I must confess, it was rather...lonely at the war.” 

His mother might be too dignified to huff in exasperation, but she certainly does shoot him a sharp look. Thomas just smirks. 

“So which tavern were you in all day? I might know a couple married ladies willing to roll in the hay. And mayhaps I spied a couple women watching you at the feast. I could introduce you.” Thomas grins rakishly at him. Then he pauses, “unless there is a certain young lady who has caught your fancy? A Miss Felicity, mayhaps?” 

Oliver pauses with his fork lifted to his lips. The moment passes after a beat, however ‘tis not so brief that Thomas misses it completely. Once Oliver wouldst not have minded so much. It would have brought him closer to his most favored friend. Now it tastes sour in his mouth, like pickle that has soured for too long. 

“If you would like, I shall be paying the Lances a visit on the morrow.” 

“That would be a splendid idea. What say you, Oliver?” His mother graces him with a benevolent smile. 

He wants to say that they shan’t find her there, but his answer will make little difference so he decides to play it off as casual nonchalance. “I suppose that would be fine.” 

“Exc-” 

Thomas’s exclamation is lost in the clanging of a bell, followed presently by the shouts of soldiers and the clang of metal on metal. Oliver’s heart stops in his chest even as he jumps to his feet in alarm, hand wrapped around his knife. 

Thomas wipes his face with his napkin, all calm attitude and impeccable manners. “Relax, Oliver. ‘Tis just a small matter. Someone’s come to rescue a guest of our prison,” Thomas says as he finally rises from his chair. “Excuse me while I see to our newest guest.” 

Oliver clenches his jaw and forces his fist to relax and return his blade to the table. He does fear for what Thomas will find when he reaches the dungeons. He had hoped that Felicity was smarter than this, that she would not stumble into such an ominous trap. “And who is your new guest?” 

Thomas grins. “Well, if luck is my lady, it’ll be the Birds of Prey.” Thomas grins as he saunters from the room on light feet as if he dances toward victory. 

Moira’s eyes widen in alarm. She stares after Thomas. 

“Mother,” Oliver hisses, leans forwards to get in her face, “you should know something.” 

“Oliver,” she responds with an even tone as she starts eating food off her plate again with dainty bites, “do not involve yourself with this dispute. Malcolm will stop it nothing to capture those that defy him. You cannot speak against him or you will join them.” 

“It’s  _ Thea _ , Mother.” Oliver drops the name and turns away. He faces the door, trapped by indecision. He needs to help. Thea may not be in danger, not from Malcolm or Thomas, but Felicity and John do not have that same luxury. 

“Thea?” 

“Aye. Thea. She’s one of the Birds.” The words rip from his throat on a growl which startles him with its ferocity. “And she just might be in that prison right now.” 

Moira pales, the only outward manifestation of her worry. “Malcolm and Thomas will not harm your sister.” 

Oliver scowls. “Thea ran from home. Do you really think she will let herself fall under Malcolm’s thumb once more?” She would not, especially not if it meant leaving Felicity behind. He takes a deep breath and makes for the door. “I refuse to wait. I shall join Thomas.” 

His steps are measured and sure as he heads for the dungeons. He does not run even as guards race past him while the alarm bell continues to sound. His heart races as he hears fighting down the stairs. Oliver slides along the cool stone wall and peeks around the corner. His eyes alight on three guards wrestling John Diggle to the ground. 

In the dimly lit room, Thomas crouches so he can look John in the eye. Oliver’s eyes probe the shadows for his sister and Felicity. 

“You are not the man I expected, Master Diggle,” Thomas says. His voice is soft, like a feather falling through the air, yet there’s an undertone of threat to his words. “Tell me, where are your friends?” 

The muscles in John’s jaw twitch, his eyes narrowed in hatred, however he doesn’t say a word. The guards holding his arms yank them back and Thomas produces a dagger from the folds of his cloak. He presses the tip of the knife into John’s neck. 

“Come now, Master Diggle. You have nothing to gain fighting this.” 

Guards come up from the depths of the dungeon. “No sign of any other intruders.” 

Thomas’s back is to Oliver, but the tension increases in his shoulder, a slight tightening as his dagger digs in to John’s neck enough to draw a thin line of blood. A moment later, the dagger is gone, slipped back into whatever pocket it emerged from with a flick of his wrist. “Were you aware, Master Diggle, that we were expecting a famous outlaw tonight?” 

John continues his passive stare. 

“The Birds of Prey,” Thomas elaborates in a casual tone. “Did you know your wife was working with them?” 

Oliver straightens, prepares to interfere is the need arises. 

“She will hang in the morn. I did not think you were so careless as to leave your child an orphan by your unlawful activities.” 

John’s eyes gleam with sudden determination. “Lyla had naught to do with this. It was all me.” 

Thomas releases a dark chuckle, a merciless sound that could freeze a river. “Do you expect me to believe that? On what proof?” 

“I swear it,” John replies hastily. “I forged weapons - knives - and brought them to the forest. Lyla knew not what I did.” 

“I want to believe you, Master Diggle, however, I will need proof.” 

John stares blankly back at him. 

“I need a name, Master Diggle. A name.” Thomas is losing his patience. 

John shakes his head. “I don’t know names.” 

“Then I am afraid you and your wife are in the same boat. You’ll both  hang in the morning.” 

“No!” John struggles against the hands that hold him. To Oliver’s amazement, he manages to lurch forward. “It’s only me. Lyla is innocent. The knives were forged by my own hand. She thought they were for a nearby lord. I delivered them to the woods, left them in a hollow tree. Lyla knew not.”

Thomas stands. “You have confessed to aiding fugitives, enemies of the crown, for which the sentence is death.”

“So long as my wife is cleared,” John pleads. 

Thomas crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head in contemplation. “I will speak to my father. Perhaps a fine shall suffice for her crimes, but one of you must hang.” 

John looks down. “I will hang so long as she can go free.” 

Oliver shakes his head from the shadows. This cannot be. His plan failed and John is suffering the consequences. Where are Felicity and Thea? Surely not here or they would have been found,  but why had they not stopped John? 

This forces their hand. John cannot be allowed to hang. He will have to do something, something that cannot be accomplished now. He may fight well, but even he would not take on the ten guards and Thomas in such an enclosed space. To do so would  be madness. 

No, he must regroup. Find Thea and Felicity so they can plan a new escape.

Thomas’s next words stop his breath and seize his heart:

“You and Roy Harper will meet your end in the morning.” 

… 

Felicity slips through the crowd of curious onlookers who poke their heads from their homes to get a better look at the Sheriff's keep. She tugs her cloak closer around her, hood well up to cover her face from any onlookers as she sidles up to Thea’s side, recognizing her posture even under her nondescript brown cloak. 

“Think all this noise is for Mister Diggle?” Thea glances at Felicity with the question, worry evident in her eyes. “Or do you think they caught Sin and Evelyn?” 

The only way to be sure would be to get closer. As much as she despises the necessity, Felicity starts to move. More guards spread out from the keep, torches ablaze as they look amongst the crowd.  Those who are wise duck back into their homes. After a stumble too many in her long skirts, Felicity hikes the ends up, tucking them into her bodice to show a sinful amount of leg. 

“There!” Thea pulls Felicity back and points through the mess of guards to a man on horseback. “That’s Malcolm. Do you see any prisoners?” 

Felicity shakes her head, straining to hear the orders called over the  general clatter. 

“Search for accomplices! I doubt Master Diggle did this alone! I want those Birds!” 

“Tis time to go,” Thea says as she takes a step further back into shadows. 

Felicity gives her a nod of agreement, however, she leans forward, towards the  guards. 

“Felicity.” 

She shakes off Thea’s hand. “Go. Find the rest of the Birds. I must find what has happened to John. I knew we should not have left him.” True, he gave them no choice, but she cannot help the guilt that comes over her. She had promised to help Lyla. 

“Fel-” Thea’s voice gets lost in the clamour as Felicity edges out of their shared hidey hole. 

Tis better for the girls this way. Felicity braces herself with a steady breath. Thea cannot be caught, not by the good Sheriff. The other girls need someone to guide them. Felicity can figure a way into the castle. The guards, searching as they are for the Birds of Prey, would not suspect a young maid. She could at the very least get a look around. Her reputation may suffer if she is caught, but that matters little to her. What good is a reputation in the woods? 

She slips back towards the inn and snags the bundle of her former clothes, loosing her skirt where she rucked it up. Now she looks slightly respectable and the package in her arms shall shall serve as her reason for entrance to the keep. Each guard that passes her sends her heart aflutter, each torch brought close to her face leaves her blinking against the sudden light, and each time she expects someone to stop her, someone to recognize her. 

The keep gates are barred shut and manned. Felicity rounds the corner to the servant’s entrance only to find a man stationed as a guard. Her nerves jangle around inside her chest, a sound akin to the chains they will put her in if they knew she was a Bird. She smiles despite the discomfort. 

“Good e’en, sir!” She hopes the brightness in her voice masks the uncertainty, the quiver that marks her lie. “Seems to be quite the busy night, aye?” 

The man glares at her. Nary a word passes his lips and no emotion reflects in his countenance. Mayhaps he believes that it looks intimidating, his stoic response from under his metal helmet. Felicity would be remiss to tell him that he just looks tired and bored. It cannot be well received that he is stuck here when his comrades are searching for infamous outlaws. 

“Nay?” She waits another moment. “I suppose tis just as well, milady be expectin’ me. I was quite out of it this morn and I forgot to get her new cloths from market. Now I must spend the night preparing for she needs clothes patched for the morrow.” She prays her words are coarse enough to be a simple woman,  one that the guard need not mind, one that he shall let pass without question. 

“No visitors,” he says gruffly. 

“But surely milady will tell you she needs to see me. Tis very important…” Right or wrong,  it appears the guard fears Malcolm more than Moira and does not budge. 

“There is my lady!” 

Felicity starts at the loud, slurred voice. Then a strong, muscled arm  slips around her waist and pulls her against an even more muscled chest. If she had not recognized the voice, her knife would have ended up in Oliver’s belly, guard as witness. She knows not what game he attempts, but she leans back against him and allows her head to tip back against his shoulder. 

The thrill that passes through her now sets her blood on fire and pushes out any sensation save Oliver’s arms. She feels safe within his grasp. Twould be disconcerting if she had not experienced the same desire when they danced on the night of his return. 

His head drops down to the exposed skin where her neck meets her shoulder, his breath coating the top of her breast from her low-cut bodice. The move was meant to look intimate but it also gives him the opportunity to whisper in her ear: 

“Thea is safe?” 

She gives a breathless nod, giggling when his stubble scratches her sensitive skin. Her skin heats at the involuntary reaction. If the gods are merciful, he will just pretend it is a part of their ruse. She is finding it difficult to think about anything save the places where their bodies touch, the smell that seems to be uniquely him. 

“Sorry, sir. Mary, here, is my companion for the night.” 

The guard narrows his eyes. “Sorry, Master Queen. Lord Merlyn gave ‘is orders-” 

“Soldier, I have been alone for ten years,” Oliver’s voice loses the drunken slur but he leans towards the guard as if conspiring. “ _ Alone _ ,” he stresses, which prompts Felicity to giggle in what she hopes is a coquettish manner. She runs her hand playfully up his chest in a mildly seductive manner and then wishes she hadn’t because  _ holy heavens, how is this man real? It feels as if he has been crafted from marble. _

“What is happening over here?” 

Felicity quickly buries her head into Oliver’s chest at the newcomer’s voice, as recognizable to her as Oliver’s. Oliver pulls her even closer and Felicity’s hand moves of its own volition to clench into Oliver’s shirt. Muscles jump under her hands at the contact. If they were not in such a precarious situation, she would be most wholly embarrassed. 

“Thomas,” Oliver says evenly. His hand runs over her back in soothing circles and slips lower, brushing dangerously close to her derriere. 

Thomas barks out a joyous laugh. “I see you took my advice. Do let him through, Ed. Have fun, brother. Little lady.” 

Oliver sweeps Felicity away and she giggles some more into his chest until they sweep around the corner. She pulls back from his embrace, and tries to regain her bearings. Her head feels thick as if she could get drunk from his smell and his touch, which Felicity finds herself not all that opposed to. 

“Come on,” Oliver whispers. His hand finds the small of her back as he leads the way down the hallway. Considering the indecency of their prior contact, Felicity is not sure why this simple touch sends a sure of tension through her body. “We can talk in my room.” 

The halls are empty as Oliver leads her through twists and turns to get to the family wing, where his hand slips into hers to pull her into his chambers. He releases her hand and spins to face her as soon as the door closes behind them. 

The intensity in his blue eyes as he looks her over is too much, so Felicity turns away to lock the door. Her hand lingers on the metal mechanism so she doesn’t have to face him. The grains of the wood slats endlessly fascinating as she calms her heart in her chest. 

“I was worried you had tried to stage a rescue without me,” he says finally, breaking the fragile silence. There’s still ruckus from outside the castle, but his room is at peace, a haven in the chaos. 

Felicity shakes her head as her finger traces a grain of wood. “I told John it was too dangerous, but ‘twas his wife…” Her breath catches in her throat and finally turns back to those too-expressive blue eyes. “He was caught, was he not?” 

Oliver nods warily. “Aye.” His hand lifts to cup her cheek in a seemingly thoughtless manner. Felicity leans into the touch, grateful for the contact more than she can say. It grounds her. She has never been alone with a man, certainly not in his personal chambers, but she is not scared of Oliver. He would not hurt her. 

“And now we must rescue him as well,” she mutters, her lips brush his palm. She could not look from him now if she tried. His eyes have captured her as surely as his arms had earlier. There’s a hunger there, not unlike the lechery of the men at the pub and yet completely different. It is not bourne of lust. Felicity knows not if she would call it love, but it is infinitely more tender than the looks of drunken men. 

“Lyla shall go free,” Oliver confides. His hand drops from her cheek but he does not move away. He sighs. “John and Roy are to hang in the morning.” 

Felicity pales, her hand clamping down on his arm without thought. “There is no way to sway them?” 

Oliver cups her elbows to guide her further into the room and lower her to a chair. Without breaking contact, he kneels before her and takes her hands. “Thomas and Malcolm had hoped to catch the Birds of Prey. As it is, John has claimed responsibility for forging your weapons.” 

She nods slowly, her mind spinning. John is only small fish. Malcolm really wants the Birds. “If I turn myself in-” 

“ _ Nay! _ ” 

Felicity jumps at Oliver’s shout. His hands clench hers, eyes stormy. 

“You  _ cannot _ turn yourself in.” 

“If it will free John-” 

“But it will not,” Oliver ploughs on, “because they will not believe you.” 

She sputters. Sure, twould be a shock, but Felicity can prove it. 

“Felicity,” he murmurs, lifting their joined hands to his lips. “They believe the Birds to be led by a man. They will not accept you in place of John.” 

“I will not let them hang, Oliver.” She refuses to entertain the notion. To break them out would make them outlaws, but they would live. Of course, the guards all around will make their adventure all the more difficult. Nigh on impossible, if she had to guess, but Felicity will free them or die in the attempt. 

“Then we must mount a rescue,” Oliver says,  pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“We?” 

Her heart is in her throat as he nods. “We.” He squeezes her hands. “Can you get word to the Birds?” 

“Yes.” Her panic recedes as her mind finds its purpose again. She straightens. “First, we shall need a plan.” 

Oliver grins and Felicity finds herself mirroring the expression. She falls a little more in love with every movement he makes, and if she hadn’t been in love with him already, she certainly would be when she caught the glint in his eye as he says: 

“We are going to need your bow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, readers! *waves apologetically* I know it's been awhile, but I hope that last scene makes up for it! I'm back and next chapter is going to be big one! Thank you so much for reading! <3 
> 
> As always: kudos, bookmarks, and comments are greatly appreciated.


	8. Executions and Exhibitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been ages. My muse has been frustratingly elusive, but she has returned! And here is an extra long chapter to boot! Enjoy!

**Chapter 8**

The day is far too lovely for an execution, too pleasant. The sky shone bright blue without a cloud to blemish the sky. The slight chill in the air allowed for light capes to not appear out of place. In other words, it was the type of day for joy, not sorrow. 

Then again, in war Oliver had seen many such days torn asunder by blood and death.

From his perch on the stairs up to the battlements, pressed against a wall, Oliver surveys the crowd below. Guards stand along the outside of the courtyard, all sufficiently intimidating. The general populace a mix of trepidation and excitement. Roy stands on the newly built wooden platform alongside John Diggle, ropes looped around their necks, the hangman in his spot beside the lever to leave them to dangle. 

“You have all been brought here this day to witness the King’s justice done.” Malcolm Merlyn struts on stairs beside the platform. He pontificates to the crowd as if this were a show, a play upon which certain characters should appear on queue. 

Malcolm pauses to nurse the moment, to revel in the anxiety of his gathered crowd and Oliver’s face twitches with the desire to scowl, a desire he represses. He was not honored with a spot beside Malcolm, which suits his and Felicity’s plan. His job is to stand as look out while the Birds enact their distraction, failsafe should the original plan fail. Felicity and he agreed: a man in the castle was too valuable to lose. The Birds would be far more successful if he could stay close to Malcolm and Thomas. If all went well, the Birds of Prey would to free Roy and John without his assistance.

“These men stand accused of treachery, of theft from the people and from our most righteous King Richard the Lionheart. They have disgraced our country by aiding the outlaws living in Sherwood Forest. For this they must be severely punished.” Malcolm, with all the grace of a master speaker, turns, arms out as if in prayer. He looks out at the crowd. “But I am not without mercy.”

Oliver watches the crowd and wonders if anyone believes Malcolm in the slightest. His eyes sweep the crowd for the cloaks he knows lurk within, but they are as well concealed as Felicity promised they would be. He misses her presence by his side. 

“I know these men to be but hapless servants. And I, in my great benevolence, shall pardon them for the names and location of the Birds of Prey. But my kindness will not be long. The Law demands justice.”

“Didst I hear that right?” A voice shouts. Oliver’s eyes land on a young man in the crowd, taller than any of the birds. He is not a familiar face, but the woman at his side is. Evelyn’s eyes are scanning the crowd as it parts slightly around the bold voice. This must be the Rory Regan Felicity spoke of. “A pardon for information?”

Thomas starts to move through the crowd as Malcolm’s smirk spreads. “Do you know where I can find the Birds?” 

The man - Rory - grins. “Oh, aye. They be here.” 

Oliver holds his breath as the tension in the courtyard jumps. He starts up the stairs, encased in shadows. Guards now grip their weapons in clenched hands and shift uneasily in their boots. Oliver slinks back into an alcove where his own hood and bow wait. 

“And how would you know this?” He hears Malcolm accuse as he makes his way to the parapet to await his turn in this farce. “You must be one of them.” 

“‘Tis simple,” Rory responds as guards slowly begin to close in on him. Oliver may not recognize the face, but his resolve in the face of terrible odds is admirable. He likes the man. “I saw Robin of the Hood arrive.” 

Oliver snorts. He had heard Felicity cackle at the ingenuity of the name the night before because it was both a bird and a derivative of ‘robbing’. Then hood and neighborhood. While he may admit it had a good ring to it, Oliver himself was reluctant to paint a larger target on Felicity’s group. 

It is a chore to constantly remind himself that this is the plan, that to expose the Birds of Prey dramatically in this instance will be the distraction they need to free Roy and John. To perfect the distraction, they had to build a legend, to create a persona, a name to be the leader, a false name to send Malcolm after.

“Robin of the Hood?” Malcolm repeats. Even from his spot across the courtyard, Oliver can hear the disdain in Merlyn’s voice. 

Rory nods sagely. Evelyn sticks close to his side, yet she shifts so she can guard his back should it come to that as the man continues to keep the attention of the crowd. “Aye. Robin be the leader of the Birds of Prey.  Fair hair, green hood, always smilin’.” 

“Oh, yes,” pipes up another voice on the far side of the crowd. It draws the guards’ attention from the man. Only Oliver, aware of the ploy, sees as Evelyn and the man part ways to relocate within the crowd. “Robin is just. Robin fights for the people of Starling.”

“Robin of the Hood. Hero of Starling!” The cry goes up from several points in the crowd, staggered and so many that Oliver cannot know who was meant to say it and who is taking up the call. 

Begrudgingly, Oliver has to admit that the Birds are well-dispersed through the crowd. Using the citizens to draw the guards into the center of the crowd has worked in their favor. Thomas’s men cannot push through the cluster of resisting citizens, nor can they clearly see their targets. 

“If he is the hero you proclaim, then surely he would not let these men die in his stead,” Malcolm taunts. “Let him come forward now and I shall release these poor souls.” 

“Oh, come now, Sheriff. Robin is not fool enough to believe that.” 

Fear claws at the inside of Oliver’s chest as he spots his sister in her characteristic red. There’s a jaunty red cap on her head in place of her usual hood. She looks male enough if you knew her not. But Malcolm clearly identifies his daughter. Recognition and fury are evident in his shaking fists. Oliver clenches his bow.  _ This is part of the plan _ , he reminds himself. Malcolm’s ire must cloud his judgment and at some level he already knew Thea was in the forest. In a couple of seconds, Evelyn will light a barrel full of black powder---

“Now, Will,” interjects another voice, a voice that has become as familiar to him as his own - Felicity - “you know Robin was always a foolish one.” 

Oliver’s gut clenches as her words register. What was she doing? This was not the plan. There was to be a distraction…

“And how could the Birds ever resist such a party?” Felicity’s voice is far too high to be ever mistaken for a man. While Sin and Thea could lower their tones and pass for boys, she would never have that luxury. 

Malcolm’s lip curls. “Lady Felicity, I should have known you to be involved with this rabble.” Oliver does not like the look on his goodfather’s face.

The crowd parts before her as she moves towards the platform. Oliver watches her with growing horror. 

No. 

No. No. No. 

How could he have been so stupid? This  _ was  _ the distraction.

At the platform base, she deals Malcolm a graceful, perfunct curtsy. “A pleasure, as always, Sheriff. Now, to the small matter of releasing your hostages. Free Roy Harper and John Diggle. When they are away, then, and only then, will Robin willing come into your custody.”

“I think not, Lady Felicity.” He motions to a guard who grasps her roughly by arms, dragging her up to the platform. Oliver nocks his bow, sighting down the shaft. Panic builds in his gut but he pushes it down with a deep breath and focus on his shot. If any harm comes to Felicity, he will gladly shoot the sheriff dead. “I will release them only when Robin of the Hood, their so-called leader, is in my custody. Or did the coward send his whore instead?”

Seething at the insult, Oliver changes his mind, sheathing his arrow. He cannot just shoot Malcolm. That will not save Felicity nor John nor Roy. Oliver moves from his covered position,  hood pulled up over his head. He cannot allow this. A man in the castle is not worth Felicity’s life. If he had known, he would never have gone along with it. He was a fool. He had seen something in her eyes last night, a hint...He cannot allow this to happen. 

The cost is too great.

… 

_ Candlelight glints off her golden curls as Felicity hunches over Oliver’s desk. He wants to reach out and discover if her hair truly is the curtain of silk it appears to be. There’s a spark in her gaze as they strategize how best to secure the release of John and Roy. Her energy, her mind, it fascinates him. He could watch her for the rest of his life and never grow bored.  _

_ Ink stains her fingers from the ferocity with which she wrote on the pieces of parchment scattered across his desk. No, Oliver reflects. It’s not his desk any longer. It shall always belong to her, the passionate, caring woman who has won his heart in the short time he has been back in Starling.  _

_ Exhaustion defeats his sense of decorum and Oliver’s hand moves of its own accord. Her hair is as soft as he imagined as he tucks it behind her ear. Felicity jolts at the contact, her bright eyes meeting his, hazy with sleep.  _

_ “What?” Her voice is soft, almost non-existent. It stirs something in Oliver.  _

_ “The hour grows late. We shouldst sleep whilst we can.”  _

_ Felicity nods. “Aye. I shall take the chair.”  _

_ “You can have the bed.” He could never make a lady sleep in a chair. Most especially not Felicity. He would have her comfort above his own.  _

_ “Oliver, that chair is tiny and you are…” her eyes rove over him, a potent reminder that they are alone in a room together, “huge. Goodness, you have a fine form, do you not?”  _

_ “Felicity.” His voice husky from the implications of Felicity’s heated gaze. Mayhaps it be the late hour or his lack of sleep, whatever the reason, Oliver finds his eyes drawn to her lips, swollen from where she chewed on them whilst she was deep in thought.  _

_ “Apologies,” she whispers, “my words become unprincipled without sleep.”  _

_ “There is no need to apologize. You are most remarkable, Miss Smoak.” She is not the only one for whom sleep loosens tongues. Oliver had not meant to speak the words.  _

_ “Thank you for remarking on it.”  _

_ His thumb brushes over her full bottom lip. She leans into his touch as her eyes flutter shut. She hums, a gentle rumble that Oliver thinks wouldn’t escape if they were more rested.  _

_ Her eyes open to meet his and his finger pauses over the swell of her lip.  _

_ “Kiss me.”  _

_ The words could have been summoned by his dreams. He could be asleep now and he would not have known. He pulls back, aware that if contact between them continues, he will do something he cannot undo.  _

_ Felicity grabs his hand before he can pull it away, with a speed and dexterity that speaks to her skill as an archer. She turns her face to kiss his palm. Oliver’s breath catches in his throat as he watches her. Her eyes don’t leave his. She replaces his hand on her cheek and presses another kiss to his wrist.  _

_ “Please, Oliver.”  _

_ He leans closer. “I cannot.”  _

_ “You kissed my skin to get past the guard. You look at my lips and away. Why deny us this moment?”  _

_ “I won’t dishonor you.” His words are weak. They disappear into the air as they leave his lips, their intent a mere memory as Felicity presses against him. “We should not-”  _

_ “What if I want to?”  _

_ “Felicity…” His body protests. If this is what they both want, how could this be wrong?  _

_ His code of chivalry is harder to dispel.  _

_ “What stops you?”  _

_ “You are a lady.”  _

_ She snorts. “I am no lady.”  _

_ “Felicity…” He repeats her name as if it could somehow soothe his desire, dissipate the tension in the air. _

_ Her lips pause a hair from his, so close he feels a phantom of their touch. His eyes flutter open, a surprise as he has no memory of closing them. Felicity stares back, eyes so intense they brand his soul. There is something unfathomable in their depths. It burns below the surface, beneath the desire and longing he can see to clearly.  _

_ Her tongue darts out, a flash of movement to wet her lips and Oliver groans. He closes the distance between them. His lips seal to hers. His are slightly chapped and hers are hardly better, but he has never kissed a softer pair, never heard a sweeter moan of contentment. And he never shall again.  _

_ Oliver presses his advantage with slow deliberate motions, each touch a question. His hands slide down her neck as their lips part, the taste of cherry lingering in his mouth. His hands cup her cheeks. Her skin soft as a flower petal under his fingers. She smells like the forest she spends so much of her time in. It’s intoxicating in a way he never found the forest before.  _

_ One kiss could never be enough.  _

_ Lips meet again, passion mounting, raging. Oliver loses himself to sensation, to the press of skin against skin, the velvet of parted lips, the symphony of sighs. For everything Felicity gives, he gives more, opening himself to her as she opens to him. He cannot find it in him to deny her anything. _

_ Emotion sweeps him up in it’s tide. His control, usually so finite, gets dragged away into the current of desire. Sensation overwhelms him: the rough cotton of her dress, the velvet of her skin over the fine muscles underneath. She sweeps him away in a storm of her own making, a monsoon of emotion he didn’t know he could feel all at once. _

_ He supports her hips as she moves to straddle him in the chair.  _

_ A chaste kiss, he had expected, not the deluge of reality, this passionate meeting of mouths like waves breaking on sand. The noises she makes take on a desperate, rough edge. It takes strength he didn’t know he had to pull back from her caresses, to catch her hands in his so he can speak without being swept away again.  _

_ “Felicity-”  _

_ She shifts on his lap and Oliver closes his eyes against a wave of lust. The groan is an involuntary reaction. _

_ His hands land on her hips to still her. “Darling, if you do not cease that, I shall embarrass myself without a doubt.”  _

_ “Oliver,” she whispers. Her newly freed hands run up his chest. “We have a plan for tomorrow. As you said, there is nothing we can do now.”  _

_ He leans forward until his forehead meets hers, their noses brushing as his eyes close. “You are a lady.” As if repetition could beat the idea into his head. _

_ “Nay. Have ye not heard? I’m an outlaw.”  _

_ His eyes fly open. Mischief dances in her gaze and on her lips. Deliberately, she bites her bottom lip and rolls her hips against his. His own hips return the action, pressing up into her, his hands now acting as an aid to press her harder against the source of his desire. He would have to be dead not to respond to that.  _

_ Felicity’s eyes flutter closed and she yields to him. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers carded into his hair. The scratch of nail against his skin draws a moan from him. Oliver uses his hold on her hips to press her into him, eliciting a groan from her.  _

_ “Outlaw or not,” Oliver whispers, “I should not dishonor you.” His hands rove down her thighs and toy with the fabric, itching to pull it up.  _

_ “Who art thou attempting to convince?” Felicity takes his hands in hers, pulls them up to the ties of her bodice. “You are not a dishonorable man. Promise me, Oliver…”  _

_ “What?” He asks, eyes fixed on the string that holds her bodice shut. His fingers play with the bow, no longer guided by Felicity’s hands.  _

_ “Promise to love and cherish me forever.”  _

_ Tis the language that triggers recognition and the words that get him to pull his gaze from his hands. Her eyes are deadly serious.  _

_ Oliver nods eagerly. “I do. I promise to love and cherish you in sickness and health, from now to the end of time.”  _

_ Felicity grins at him.  _

_ “Do you?” he asks her, words so quiet they could be a dream.  _

_ “I promise,” a soft press of lips to lips, “to love and cherish,” another kiss, “in sickness,” kiss, “and health,” a longer one that almost sweeps them again again, “from now to the end of time.”  _

_ Oliver chuckles against her lips. “Miss Felicity, didst thou just marry me before the eyes of God to take me to bed?”  _

_ Felicity’s laugh is high and clear, head thrown back in mirth. The glint in her eyes promises love and fun. He would go to war to keep that look on her face instead of the worry she has worn since she heard Lyla and Roy were taken. Felicity nods as she draws him forward for another kiss. “That I did, Oliver Queen, Lord of Starling.”  _

_ “You are truly remarkable,” he tells her. She is a marvel, a wonder of the world. And now that he has seen her, he shall never be the same. Her smile, her brilliant mind, her laugh: they have transfigured him. “There is one thing you have overlooked.”  _

_ “Mmhm.” Felicity moves to kiss down her neck as her hands slip under his shirt. “And what have I overlooked?” _

_ Her fingers against his skin sends shivers up his spine, a distraction to his thoughts. “A priest,” he manages finally.  _

_ “Aye, and my mother would be vastly disappointed by the lack of a chuppah, but so long as we have sworn before God, are we not married in his eyes?”  _

_ He blinks. “Does it not bother you that I did not know you were Jewish?”  _

_ “Oliver?”  _

_ “Felicity.”  _

_ “Unless that truly changes things for you, cease your protestations and take me to bed.”  _

_ Oliver chuckles and kisses her. “As my lady demands.” _

… 

She had said goodbye last night. He recognizes this now as her eyes find his. Although he can’t see her eyes, Oliver knows they hold an apology. Well, Oliver shall not let this happen. He will not relinquish his love into the arms of Malcolm Merlyn. He will not allow her to sacrifice herself for this. He is a staunch supporter of her cause, but this cannot stand. 

Thea’s eyes dart to him in alarm. 

Whenever Felicity conceived this plan, she told no one. 

Oliver scowls and throws off his dark hood and yanks up his green leather hood, the one he used to hunt in Sherwood and he moves up the stairs. Thea sees his motion and nods, just as when they were young and could predict each other’s motions. They are in agreement: Felicity cannot be allowed to sacrifice herself. 

“Lady Felicity.” Thomas catches her arm, pulling her away from Malcolm’s soldier. “Whatever this fiend, this Robin of the Hood, has threatened you with, we shall protect you. It is a coward who sends a woman in a man’s place.” 

_ Felicity, forgive me for this _ , Oliver prays as he reaches the top of the wall and looses his arrow. It skims the top of Thomas’s fingers where he grips Felicity’s forearm. The pain has him releasing her. Oliver can feel the ire of her gaze but he carries on his charade. 

“You wanted me, Malcolm! Here I be!” He spreads his arms wide. “As you can see, you know my whereabouts. Now thou canst release the prisoners.” 

“A coward who hides behind a hood,” Malcolm shouts to the crowd. “Is this who you protect?” 

Oliver smirks beneath his hood. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the Birds move through the crowd. Sin is already with Felicity. Thea has an arrow aimed at the noose around John Diggle’s neck. Evelyn appears  to be aimed at the one around the neck of Roy Harper. All eyes are on him. It is his turn to create a spectacle. 

“You have the wrong of it, Lord Sheriff.” He sweeps an exuberant bow, with a large flourish. “The people do not protect me. They do not know me. I am a but a ghost, a phantom.” 

“And yet they name you,” Malcolm calls back. 

His guards move slow, creeping towards Oliver in slow movements, after all he has nowhere to go from his position. 

“They name me Robin of the Hood, a legend.” 

“A hero!” That voice Oliver recognizes as belonging to Bartholomew Allen. 

“A coward and a traitor!” 

“No. You are the traitor!” Oliver shouts. He has to create more chaos, to create a frenzy. “You murdered the Lord of Starling and framed him so you could usurp his place. You manipulated his widow and his daughter. You steal collected taxes from your own King and use them to furnish your own palace. You deal unfairly with your people and you shall face the King’s justice!”

Malcolm’s face grows red as the crowd stirs with the accusations. “On what authority do you accuse me? You have nothing.” 

“I have my father’s word.” Oliver throws back his hood to a litany of gasps. It was certainly not the way he wished to accuse Malcolm, but if it spares Felicity, he will gladly do it.

Malcolm’s anger finally gets the better of him. Even if Oliver has no proof, his words are enough to rile the crowd and stir up questions. He cannot have that. “Guards! Arrest that man for treason against the King of England. Executioner, hang them!” 

“No! Those men are innocent!” 

“Do it!” Malcolm screams, but the confusion has lasted long enough as a distraction.

Oliver draws another arrow and shoots at Malcolm as Thea and Evelyn take their own shots. He aims true for Malcolm, not because he intends to kill the man but as a distraction. Thomas and the close guard lunge to defend their boss and in the chaos, Roy and John are pulled from the platform. Oliver uses his prominent position to his advantage: his voice rises in jeers and laughter as he leads the guards on a merry chase.  

“You call yourself a guard?” 

“Shame on thee, good sir!” 

“Art thou a man or flippertyjibbit?” 

He runs back and forth along the wall, lashing out with his bow to tap against their feet and block their feeble attempts to hit him with spears or swords. Their attacks are truly pathetic. After he faced knights in war, these soldiers are nothing. He fights until they have him cornered. 

“It has been a pleasure, good sirs, Lord Sheriff.” He bows, eyes sweeping the yard to confirm that the Birds are indeed away. “We should do this again, but alas, I must away.”

He draws his last arrow from his quiver and shoots it across the courtyard. It arcs through the air, a rope trailing through air behind it. With a final bow, he jumps from the ramparts and swings through the air to a rising cheer. 

Oliver lands by the gate and turns back to the podium where Malcolm still stands, seething in anger. 

“Until next time, Malcolm.” A final wink and he runs.

… 

“That stupid, infuriating man…,” Felicity’s words dissolve into grumbles as Sin yanks her through the village of Nottingham and to the horses waiting beside a tavern for them. “Just had to steal all the glory.” 

Sin shoves her toward one of the horses and glares at her. “Saved your skin, I reckon.” 

Felicity narrows her eyes. “It was unnecessary.” 

“You’d rather be a hostage?” Sin challenges. 

“Can we discuss this when we’re out of the village?” 

“So long as we do not have to worry about you getting any more fool ideas,” Thea adds as she joins the group with a glare at Felicity. Over her shoulder, Roy mirrors her expression. 

What arguments could follow must wait. There is not time to argue at the moment, only time enough to flee. Felicity cannot help that notice there are additions to her little group: Beside her Birds, Roy, and John, Felicity spots Rory Reagan and Bartholomew Allen. It was never her wish to send more into self-imposed exile within Sherwood, however it warms her heart to see that others believe in her cause. 

There are also more people to throw glares at her as they ride for their lives, which every person seems inclined to do. It is almost enough to make her feel the weight of guilt. 

Felicity knew there would be opposition to her plan, which is why she told none. Not even Oliver. He and Thea deserved happiness, to finally be truly reunited as family. She had thought to secure the safety of everyone. So long as it worked, the sacrifice would be worth it. 

She had not counted on Oliver. Felicity brings her horse to a halt as they move off the forest path and into a clearing that belongs to the Birds. She turns to get a true headcount of their group. Thea maneuvers her horse to cut in front of Felicity, face a mask of stone.

“You! Thou art a stupid, foolish cad! If Oliver had not intervened…,” Thea cannot finish the thought. She scowls and leans out of her saddle to get further into Felicity’s face. “Do that again and I shall kill you myself.” Thea’s words garner a number of nods in agreement. 

Properly chagrined, Felicity surrenders to her lieutenants. “Aye. I shall never attempt such a deed myself again.” 

“And you better hope my brother gets out of there with all his limbs intact. I swear, the two of you, each more foolhardy than the other.” Thea, with all the dexterity of a woman who is part horse, wheels around and sets out on a path only the Birds know. Even Felicity is hard pressed to find it from this clearing. Roy follows her silently.

Sin passes her with a sideways glare of disapproval, marked by a hint of underlying hurt. Barry reaches out to squeeze her hand as he falls in line, and then abruptly has to fumble for his reins before the horse decides to choose his own path. Evelyn and Rory follow: Evie with a reproachful look and Rory with an understanding nod. John brings his own mount to a stop beside Felicity’s. 

“My lady.” His tone is respectful, his body sagged with pain and exhaustion after a night in the prison. 

Felicity nods and starts forward, but John’s hand reaches out to grab her reins, surprisingly fast for a man almost as large as he horse he rides. She raises her eyes to meet John Diggle’s. There is an iron determination in their depths that matches the steel of his wife’s. “Mister Diggle.” 

His brown eyes bore into hers for so long that Felicity shifts uncomfortably in her saddle and her ears strain for the beating of hoofbeats on their trail. She does not know what John Diggle waits for. An angry outburst, she is prepared for: she put his wife in danger, left him to storm a prison on his own. His life is in upheaval because of her. Lyla would disagree, say she chose to assist the Birds, but Felicity will accept this blame. 

Instead John asks: “Lyla?” 

Felicity straightens. “I imagine she waits for us at our camp with young John and Sara. We could not risk the sheriff’s reprisal should this go wrong.” 

“You would not attack yestereve.” 

Tis not a topic she wishes to broach in the open meadow. “We should continue on before the Sheriff gathers his men to pursue.” 

“So why wo-” 

Felicity jerks away from him at the sound of snapping twigs. Her hands wrap around her bow. It is in her hands and aimed in an instant, instinct overriding thought. John attempts to swing his horse around and swears as it elects to ignore his instruction. With a muttered curse, John jumps from the back of the animal and grabs a large stick off the forest floor to arm himself. 

A figure reaches the top of the embankment and Felicity sags in the saddle at the familiar face, lowering her bow. John relaxes and tosses his improvised weapon aside. He glances between Felicity and Oliver before he snorts and pulls himself back on his mount. 

“I will leave you two to talk.”

Felicity opens her mouth to object, but John has already spurred his horse off after the others. 

She bites her lip as she turns, as slowly as possible, to face Oliver. Or rather his general direction. Her body is still sore from the night before, still buzzing with the memory of his touches. He had made her come alive after pledging himself to her. 

Her heart leaps in her chest as she hears him move closer. With a deep breath, she finally dares to look at Oliver. She hasn’t allowed herself the pleasure since they parted ways, too afraid it would decimate her resolve. It had been hard enough to part this morning. 

… 

_ The first rays of sun fell through the window, a cascade of light over the bed and Oliver. Felicity draws her hand over the defined muscles of Oliver’s chest. She feels deliciously languid, more relaxed than she could remember ever being. Her body feels deliciously sore from the night before. As a well-bred lady, she should regret what happened last night.  _

_ As her mother’s daughter, she agrees that loving a man should not be defined by society’s rules.  _

_ Her mother...Her mother would fawn over Oliver and congratulate her on a good match. Then there would be the salacious comments, which would without a doubt bring a flush to her cheeks. _

_ Her fingers lift to trace the planes of Oliver’s face, the scruff a rasp against the pads of her fingers. She smiles at the memory of that same scratch in other places all over her body as he worshipped her the night before.  _

_ Felicity hums as she presses an appreciative kiss to the skin under her head before she tears herself away. The temperature drops as she scoots away from Oliver’s body. It leaves her with a chill that not even her clothes can erase. She relives every touch again as her clothes slide across her skin, as if she could summon the feel of Oliver’s hands.  _

_ The laces of her bodice confine more than they did last night. Her body still thrums and pulses to escape the cage of her clothes. If only she could throw it off again and crawl back under the sheets and into Oliver’s arms.  _

_ But she has preparations to make.  _

_ The message she shot to Thea on the other side of the wall will not suffice. She trusts her Birds with their part in the charade, with their ability to recruit among the trusted townspeople, but no one can know her true plan, especially not Oliver.  _

_ She slips back to the bed, unable to resist the urge to stroke his cheek one last time. Her plan is foolhardy. If any other suggested it, she would scold them and formulate a new plan. Yet she takes this responsibility upon herself. She is the most likely to survive the Sheriff. Malcolm and Thomas would not desire to harm a lady.  _

_ Oliver’s brow furrows, a prelude to his sudden wakefulness.  _

_ The smile on her lips as his eyes flutter open is involuntary. “Good day,” she whispers into the peaceful morn.  _

_ His sleepy grin almost shatters her determination. His happiness could easily undo her. “Why art thou awake? We have time.”  _

_ She smiles sadly down at him. “I have preparations to make.”  _

_ “Give me but a moment.”  _

_ “No,” she says quietly, a hand on his chest to still him. She leans down to kiss him softly.  “I need to make last minute plans with the Birds. Sleep awhile longer. I’ll see you when all this is over.”  _

_ His brow knits in confusion and his hand burrows into her hair to bring her back down for another kiss. She does not know what he sees in her eyes, but it must be something for he says: “I will hold you to that, my lady.”  _

_ She smiles against his lips as guilt roils in her gut. “Fare thee well, love.”  _

_ …  _

Felicity’s coward heart wishes to flee from the accusation in Oliver’s eyes. Far more terrifying is the worry in his gaze. He guides his horse to stand alongside hers. He releases his reins. With deft movements Felicity could not stop even if she wanted to, Oliver swipes her reins with one hand and cups her cheek with the other, bringing them impossibly closer together. 

“That was foolish.” 

His eyes stare intensely into hers. They bind her to him and Felicity finds herself incapable of escape. Not that she wants to. She finds herself wanting nothing more than to continue to drown in their depths. Mayhaps it stems from the fact that she thought she had lost him. She cleaves to him: Her hand latches onto the wrist of the hand on her cheek. Her body leans toward his without thought. 

“It was the only way.” The protest she prepared sounds feeble for more than just the tremble in her voice. Obviously there was another option because here they are. 

Oliver’s fingers twitch against her cheek as his jaw clenches. “I almost lost you.” 

“I could not ask you to leave your mother, not in that place without protection. You just returned home.” Those had been her reasons. In the light of day, they are empty, especially in the cold calculation of his eyes.  

“My mother made her choice.” His hand slips to her neck. Felicity closes her eyes against the sudden memory of his lips pressed against the same spot the night before. “This is mine.” 

“Oliver…” 

“Since you seem to have forgotten,” Oliver leans closer, “I made a vow last night, which I intend to keep. We are both outlaws now, you and I.” 

Felicity blinks back tears. “Are you sure?” 

He nods. The determination in the gesture assaults her heart. It feels as though it grows in her chest until it is fit to burst. She could cry. Never before has a man believed in her so much he would swear himself to her, to her cause. In every instance, there had been caveats. Even Quentin - bless his heart - had wanted her to be something she was not, wanted her to hold her tongue against injustice for her own safety. 

Felicity blinks back tears. She reaches out to cup his cheek and rises in her saddle so she can press a chaste kiss to Oliver’s lips. “Thank you.” 

His lips lift at the edges, but his smile remains hidden. His thumb brushes her skin, eyes serious once more. “But we need to agree on one thing.” 

Here comes the other shoe. Felicity tenses. 

“No more secret plans where you sacrifice yourself.” 

“It was the only way-” 

Oliver shakes his head, cutting her off. “No more secrets. If you had just told me, we could have come up with something. My position in the castle was not worth your life.” 

Felicity sighs. “And if one day it was? What if one day the cost is worth it?” 

“Then it will not be you who sacrifices.” 

“These are my people,” she argues. She detests the implication that she would not be fit to...no, she does not know the right words, but if he thinks that because he is a man, he is more capable, then she must set him right. 

“Felicity, Malcolm now believes I am Robin of the Hood. He will accept no other. The Birds need you. I am expendable.” 

“Not to me.” The words burst from her in fire. She can see in his eyes that he feels the same, that he had the same trouble with her sacrifice. For as little time as they have known each other, her ability to read his eyes, his face, could be disturbing. She scowls. “No sacrifices.” 

His lips twitch up into a true smile now. “As my lady commands.” 

Her laugh is as unexpected as his statement. It draws levity back to them. Felicity shakes her head as she smiles widely back at him. “For either of us.” 

“Glad we agree.” 

“Oliver.” His name might be the sweetest word she has ever spoken. He lifts his head again to meet her eyes. “Thank you. For saving me.” 

“Always.”  

“Well, isn’t this sweet?” 

Felicity wheels her horse around at the malicious voice, eyes widening as they land on Thomas Merlyn, where his horse stands, perched on the ridge, guards splayed out on either side of him on horseback. The man who loves her sister is not before them. No, this man is his father’s cold-hearted minion. She has no doubt he would allow his men to kill her without batting an eye. 

Her bow is in her hand and pointed at the men almost in tandem with Oliver. But even if they had superior skill, they are outnumbered by Thomas’s guard. She could probably manage to take several down with her, but not enough. They can’t lead the guards to camp. 

No, if they’re lucky, Thea and the others are long gone and have the good sense to stay out of this. She has no plan, no contingency. They should have moved sooner instead of pausing to converse. 

“Put your weapons down.” Thomas jumps from his horse and moves forward. Oliver tracks his movement with his own bow as Felicity keeps her aim on the guards. “Malcolm wants you alive, but he didn’t say uninjured.” 

Neither of them move. 

“Come, Felicity. My father is willing to let you plead insanity. Oliver has clearly seduced you.” 

She snorts at that. From the corner of her eye, she can see the hint of a smirk on Oliver’s face. No. If there was any seduction, it was clearly her that had seduced him. Thomas does not appear amused by the byplay. 

“Come home, Felicity. Do it for Laurel. Come back with me and tell us where the Birds are. Help us bring Thea home.” 

Oliver laughs at that. “Home? Thomas, hast thou gone mad? When has Nottingham ever been her home?” 

Thomas scowls at Oliver and turns his attention to Felicity. “Turn yourself over to my father’s mercy, and we will protect you.” 

Felicity adjusts her grip on the bow. “I have seen what your father calls mercy. I think I shall take my chances with the fools you call guards.” 

There is a tense moment, when Thomas’s calm demeanor is turned ugly with rage at the insults. “You, little-” 

“You heard the lady, Thomas,” Oliver finally says. “If you wish to bring us in, you are welcome to try.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This chapter has been a labor of love. Many thanks to emeraldoliverqueen for her wonderful beta'ing. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'd love to hear what you thought. 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/bookmarks are always appreciated. <3 
> 
> -nicole


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The men of the Sheriff’s guard are brutes. It is known. Their countenance does nothing to dissuade the notion as they stare out from under domed helmets. Felicity had once joked with Laurel about how their heads were so empty that when struck the helmets rang like bells. Mayhaps being outnumbered in a forest clearing is not the wisest time to recall such a diverting image, but Felicity cannot look at the circle of men without the image tickling her brain. 

As amusing as the thought may be, Felicity has to admit the threat to her person is very real. She is not the best fighter. She can shoot her bow with deadly accuracy, but that is the true extent of her martial abilities, and she can only shoot so many arrows in a moment. Oliver will undoubtedly be more capable in a fight. 

She counts the men again. Twelve against two is hardly a fair fight. Even taking into account that they shall underestimate her, Felicity cannot guarantee a positive outcome. 

“Think of your family, Felicity,” Thomas says in a voice that parodies concern.

Are they still on this? She is seven steps ahead with no idea why this conversation is so far behind.

“I am,” she responds, mind a whirl. If she and Oliver can take out a side of the circle, then they can make a run for it. Obviously they could not lead the men to the Birds’ camp, but Felicity had confidence she could lose them in the forest. 

“Very well.” Thomas steps back, pulling his gloves on. Felicity spots the movement out of the corner of her eye and resists the urge to roll them. Ever the dramatic one, those Merlyns. “Lady Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen, by order of the Sheriff of Nottingham, Sir Malcolm Merlyn, with the authority of King Richard the Lionheart, you are hereby under arrest for the crime of high treason.” 

At a signal, the men in the circle start forward. Felicity draws the string of her bow back and takes aim. “The western ridge,” she mutters toward Oliver before loosing her arrow. 

“Go,” Oliver growls as he releases his own arrow. “I’ll hold them off.” 

Felicity laughs as she moves. Her shots might be slower than his, but they are just as true. “If you think I wouldst leave you behind-” 

A guard shouts and falls from his mount, one Felicity knows neither her nor Oliver shot. She spies the glint of a dagger as he topples from the top of his horse. It could be Sin’s, and maybe Felicity would believe so if she did not have confirmation that Sin just rode off in the other direction. 

She does not have time to examine the hilt of the dagger though as more of the guards race closer. Oliver is dealing with with the six on his side of the circle. Thomas has retreated to his own horse. The guards edging in on Felicity - of which she and the mysterious dagger-wielder had each taken out one - appear more cautious, unwilling to fight a woman. Felicity herself is more than a little squeamish in regards to firing on men. The whole premise of her robbery on the roads is that it should never devolve into the kind of violence that means killing. It is why she has such perfect aim: she needs to shoot to scare but not kill. 

Her gut churns as she fires off another arrow. It embeds itself in the guard’s shoulder and he sags in his saddle, clutching at his now useless arm. Another guard falls to another knife. Felicity should probably be more concerned but the last two guards are still advancing and now too close to fire in a timely manner and avoid the swords they’re unsheathing. 

An undignified squeak escapes her as Guard Number One swings at her head and she barely ducks out of the way. She brings her bow up and swings it across her body as a melee weapon. Whether by the strength of her blow or the knife embedded in the man’s back, he collapses forward and his horse wanders away. 

There is no time to dwell on that though. Guard Number Two has his sword moving in a downward arc. Felicity raises her bow overhead, bracing her hands on either end as the sharp edge bites into her precious weapon. The wood cracks and splinters under the force of the blow. Her arms quiver under the weight, muscles unaccustomed to the weight pressing down. 

The bow in her hands creaks as Guard Number Two continues to press his advantage. Felicity tries to use her knees to move her horse around but Oliver is behind her and there’s no easy escape. 

A whoop echoes between the trees. 

Felicity and the guard both start at the sudden interruption. Behind the guard, Felicity watches a figure all in black on a black horse erupt from the trees. The rider flings a couple knives from her wrist before pulling a sword from over her shoulder. With a single fluid motion, the sword falls on Guard Number Two and the rider circles around to help Oliver take down his last two opponents.  

Felicity spins her horse around, broken bow limp in her hands. She turns just in time to see Thomas flee over the ledge, back to the road. 

“Felicity?” 

“I am well.” Her eyes meet Oliver’s and then glance sideways at the newcomer. “We should leave before Thomas returns.” 

Oliver nods and then turns warily to face the woman. “Thank thee for your assistance.” 

“We can do introductions later,” Felicity insists, spurring her horse on. “If we linger, we are done for. We have engaged in combat with the Sheriff’s men. They will stop it nothing to find us. We must away.” 

“Follow me.”  The figure and Felicity speak in unison.

Felicity blinks. Her eyes track back to the figure in black, lips parting in shock. She knows that voice. Her face is wrapped in black cloth, but the blue eyes that wink at her are as recognizable to her as Laurel’s. 

She gestures her hand forward.  “After you.” 

The eyes crinkle in amusement before the black stallion races forward. With a glance at Oliver, Felicity kicks her own horse into motion. She shifts to sit more comfortably into the saddle as they move through the forest at a speed Felicity would never dare. 

Then again, Sara Lance was always more coordinated and confident than she was. 

Sara weaves through the trees and it is as if she never left. Felicity can claim she knows the forest but in truth, she will always doubt herself. She second guesses herself in a way that Sara does not. Sara moves as though the trees themselves would move should she forget a turn.It is a confidence Felicity wishes she could have. 

The path they follow is one Felicity has never followed before.  She recognizes a few landmarks, but whatever trail Sara follows is new. Once they reach a stream, Sara slows her pace to walk along the riverbank so their tracks are washed away behind them. 

“We should find cover,” Oliver advises. 

Felicity’s eyes drift back and then looks forward. “Our camp is in Canary Cove.” 

The black ghost that is Sara Lance nods. Canary Cove is not on any map. It was a hideaway discovered by Sara Lance herself. She’d camped out there for a couple weeks after she ran away from home, before she headed off to the Crusades. Laurel and Felicity had kept it up after she left. Sin and Evelyn lived there full time. Then Thea joined them. And now Felicity. It was their only permanent camp. 

“Can you get there from here?” 

Felicity nods, spurs her horse forward to pass Sara and take the lead. 

Mayhaps it is due to the prolonged silence that was just broken, but now the tension grows, the silence almost oppressive in nature. She starts to whistle as they meander along her known trail. The sheriff’s men rarely, if ever, travel this far. She navigates them through any waiting traps, her whistle a warning to the other Birds that a friend approaches. 

Oliver rides up to walk his mount beside hers. “Are you sure it is safe to return to camp?” His eyes dart back to Sara in suspicion. There a thousand implications there: that Malcolm is after them, that Sara could be a spy, that she is inviting danger into her camp. 

Behind them Sara laughs and yanks down her mask. Felicity’s eyes slide back to Oliver, whose surprise has caused him to jerk his horse to a stop. 

“I would have thought you recognized me, Earl of Starling.” 

… 

Oliver feels the blood leave his limbs as he stares at a ghost. Despite his words of comfort to Felicity, a part of him had always believed Sara Lance dead. He saw her fall in battle and searched for her in the aftermath. In moments of weakness, he would surrender to optimism and imagine her alive again. As hard as he tried though the night terrors would never let him forget the horror of witnessing her felled by the curved Sassen blade. 

“Sara…” 

She grins at him, that same cocksure smirk he always saw in his memories. It is a thing entirely Sara Lance. His eyes dart back to Felicity. Her smile is softer, as though she is holding herself back. 

“I thought…the battle of Bloody Hill...” Oliver could not explain, cannot fathom how his memory could be so faulty. It smacks of a failure. He relinquished Sara to an uncertain fate, although her present condition would indicate it was not so terrible. “I could not find you.” 

Sara shifts uncomfortably and Oliver takes the opportunity to take in the layers of black robes that suddenly appear so familiar to his eyes. 

“You were with the enemy?” He does not want to believe it, but he knows that garb. It belongs to a secret cult, the League of Assassins. He was injured and sent home after combat with one assassin left him in mortal danger. His only solace was that he had saved his king. 

“‘Tis not so simple, Oliver,” she responds just as heatedly. “I made decisions to survive.” 

“And now you have returned? Do you truly feel it is that simple?” He mourned her, he kept hope for her alive in her friends and family. He has acted on the possibility she survived for the sake of others. “How many of King Richard’s men have you slain?” 

Sara scowls. “None who would not have killed me first.” 

As much as Oliver wants to rage at her, he hears the truth in her words, recognizes the pain in her eyes. He has slain enemies only to find they are but children. War could strip a person of his humanity, if you let it. He does not care to examine the number of times he may have been on opposite sides of the battlefield. 

It is the uniform she wears that infuriates him, Oliver decides as he closes his eyes for several deep breaths until his heart has slowed. So many years fighting the Turks have trained him to kill the uniform on sight. It was an urge he had buried when she first appeared since it was clear she was there to assist them. Now, the sight of a familiar face wearing the hated uniform of his enemies is repugnant, a contradiction to everything he had thought. 

“Oliver…” 

He holds up a hand in the direction of Sara’s voice. “I am sorry for the harsh words. There was a man…,” he can see the shadow in his mind’s eye, as clearly as the night it happened. “He stole into the King’s tent, nothing more than a ghost.” His eyes open to meet hers. “He wore the same garb you do now.” 

Sara pales. “The King is dead?” 

“No.” Oliver runs a hand across his abdomen where the scar from that night lies, an injury that should have left him dead. “I was able to fend him off. The bastard will have a nasty scar on his arm, but I was left for dead.” 

Sara closes her eyes with a grimace. “There are not many who can face an assassin and live.” 

“I almost did not,” he admits. He shifts in his saddle. “I hate to ask…” 

With no further prompting, Sara pushes her sleeves up her arms and bares her tanned skin. It isn’t unblemished, far from it, however he breathes easier when he does not catch sight of a dragon tattoo. Oliver nods for her to cover up again. 

“Thank you.” 

Felicity finally edges closer from where she had retreated whilst accusations were flung. Her hand comes up rest on his forearm. He stares at the point of contact, only then realizing how tense he still was. His muscles relax as he releases a long breath. 

He struggles to find the words to explain. “The man...assassin...there was something...familiar in him, so when I recognized…” 

“So when you saw Sara,” Felicity says softly, “you thought she may have been there.” 

The understanding in her eyes is almost two much for Oliver, so overwhelming to have someone trust him so completely after so little time, even after he had been prepared to attack her sister. He nods, unable to speak. 

He twists his arm so he can slip his hand into Felicity’s. Their fingers intertwine as he lifts her hand to his lips in thanks. Words cannot encompass how much she means to him. Or perhaps it is the battle they survived catching up with him. He needs this contact to assure him that they are both alive and well.

“It appears you did not return to woo Laurel, then.” Sara smirks at him. 

Felicity makes an affronted noise, but Oliver just smiles and shakes his head. “You know our relationship was never of that nature.” 

Sara throws her head back with a laugh. “But it was such fun to tease you about. Where is my darling sister these days? Back at camp?” 

Felicity chews nervously on her bottom lip. Without a thought, Oliver lifts his hand to free it from her worrying. Her eyes darken as they meet his. Nary a moment later, she shakes her head and returns her focus to Sara. 

He gets that she doesn’t want to get into this here, so he focuses on Felicity, his thumb running along the back of her knuckles. She squeezes her hand back before releasing him. 

“I’ll explain on the way.” 

Oliver falls back, eyes sweeping the forest for any indication of Merlyn’s men. He is certain they lost them. This is purely for his own sake of mind and to offer Sara and Felicity what privacy he can. The trees here are thicker, older. While Oliver prides himself on familiarity with Sherwood as a child, he find he cannot locate them at the moment. 

Sun and moss give him a sense of direction and time, but there are no landmarks along their path that jump out. If he found himself in this area in his younger days, he does not recognize it now. 

Or maybe he was too preoccupied with hunting as a young, foolhardy boy. Animal tracks run rampant on the forest floor. He glances forward to Sara and Felicity, how they move among the trails with hardly any attention paid. 

Animals would not frequent paths close to any camp. He hones his gaze on a deer path, hopping from his horse to get a closer look. Even crouched there, Oliver cannot see any evidence that the path was deliberately created. Each path is the same, so overlapped and meticulous that he cannot identify what strikes him as false about them. 

Felicity and Sara pause at the top of a ridge. Felicity has that adorable smile at the corner of her lips, the one that brings that dancing laughter into eyes. He’s seen that playful look only few times, but enough that he wants to kiss it everytime. 

He leads his steed by the reigns, careful to not step outside the worn paths. He cannot hear anything but there must be something that startles Sara for she spins and disappears over the ridge at a gallop. 

Oliver moves faster, only the brilliance of Felicity’s smile to reassure him there is no threat over the ledge. Felicity smiles at him before following Sara over the ledge. 

Oliver walks up to the ledge and gets his first look at the Birds’ camp. It looks more like a small village than a camp. To his left Thea stands, perched as a lookout. She shoots him a smirk and then her eyes drift out the forest again. Bright red of a popinjay and he could not see her before he reached this perch, but he can be sure she saw him. 

This ridge surrounds an encampment, not of tents as he supposed, but of little, disguised huts. Their roofs are covered with leaves and moss, their backs to an almost sheer wall of rock. The camp isn’t completely sunken into the hill. The far side only has a little ledge before the terrain declines once more. It’s a good, defensible point. 

Oliver doesn’t like the lip where he stands, it gives the high ground to an approaching enemy. However, he doubts an enemy could make it up the hill without being spotted, and once spotted the shots downhill are clear, but the vegetation gives the Birds ample places to hide. It is a happily situated spot. 

Thea sidles over to him. “It is the acoustics that truly make this place great,” she confides. “Until you stand on the lip, nary a sound can be heard. We’ve got traps around the perimeter, some to harm, some to alert.” She glances back to Felicity and Sara in the valley. “Do we still must need speak with Felicity about sacrifice, or hast thou handled that?” 

His eyes are pulled from Felicity introducing Sara around to look back at his not-so-little sister. She smirks knowingly. He turns away. Eyes unerringly find Felicity as she glances up at him.    
“We have come to an agreement.” It is the most he can say, the most concise explanation of what happened. 

“An agreement,” Thea mimics with a smirk, a hint of salaciousness in her tone. 

He narrows his eyes. “An agreement.” 

“And what doth that entail, my dearest brother?” 

“It means she will never offer herself for the rest of us again. And neither will I.” He strokes his horse’s nose as he contemplates what he swore to her. “We may have married.” 

Thea sputters. “W-wha? I must have hit my head. I thought you just said you were married.” 

Oliver runs a hand through his hair and glances sideways at his sister. “We swore vows. Night before last. As close as we could get without a priest…or a rabbi,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I know not why I am surprised,” Thea grumbles. “Tis just like the both of you. There will have to be an official ceremony.” 

“I will marry her as many times as she’ll have me.” Oliver is surprised how true the words taste on his tongue. 

“Does she know how big a sap you are?” 

Oliver deigns not to answer. He just smiles at his sister and starts down the hill to his new home. 

… 

Felicity cannot stave off a grin as she leads Sara down into the gully the Birds of Prey call home. There are more present than there have ever been before. John Diggle and Roy Harper have not had the pleasure before, and though they arrived earlier, they still look round with stars in their eyes. Sara glances back at Felicity. 

“You have done well, Lissy,” she says. “Last I was here, there was naught but a single tent and we were too afeared to light a fire.” 

Felicity glows with pride at their accomplishments. “We tested how far the smoke could be seen, or the flames, how far sound carried and how loud. This is our most secure site.” 

“It is most remarkable.” Sara slides down from her horse as Sin comes running up to embrace her. 

Felicity steps back to allow them privacy in their reunion. She does not know the details of their meeting, only that Sara rescued Sin from a dire situation and left her in Laurel’s care when she ran off to the promised land.  

Evelyn and Rory meet Felicity when she hops from her horse. 

Evie’s eyes sweep over Felicity. “Are you unharmed?” 

“I am fine,” she assures Evelyn. “Sara arrived in time to fend off the Sheriff’s men, although I do not believe our connection to Laurel will protect us any more.” She grimaces as she remembers Thomas’s face. “Merlyn will want blood after this.” 

“No offense, my lady, but we already knew that.” Rory bows politely and Felicity swats at him. 

“Cease that now, Rory. We both know I am not a lady.” She frowns when he grins at her. 

His eyes flit behind her and then back. “Well, if his lordship’s reaction were proof, you would be his lady.” 

“And he is not a lord,” Felicity counters, although the heat of her blush negates any of her harsh words. 

Evelyn barks a laugh. “Methinks you do have the right of it, Rory. It appears they are both besotted.” 

“Damn fools,” John Diggle mutters as he and Rory move closer. “My wife?” 

“Safe,” she says. “And not implicated. The sheriff can cause what trouble he wants, but he will not tie her or your children to our cause, and he will not attack a woman without a riot, not without proof of misconduct and not a woman as well-liked as your wife.” 

“But she has been aiding you,” John grits out. 

“You handily confessed to that.” Felicity feels for the Diggle family, she does, but in sooth it had to happen one way or another. “One or the other of you would have found your way here. ‘Tis better that it be you. We shall keep watch over Lyla, but the Sheriff will be watching. We cannot approach. She must spurn you for now.” 

“Better for it to be me? How?” John pulls himself upright, arms crossed over his impressive girth. 

From the edges of her vision, Felicity sees the Birds move closer. Rory and Roy stand stiffly and inch closer in case they must needs intercede. She holds eye contact. “Better for your family. As today has proven, Malcolm underestimates the fairer sex.” Felicity glances around at the group, daring to turn her back if only because Evelyn and Rory could cover her back if necessary. “We have lived here, thrived herein, if only because he would not dare to believe women capable of such a feat. We are unseen. That is our disguise and we use it well.” 

“And now that he knows you have his daughter?” John challenges in a low rumble from behind her. 

Felicity’s eyes lock with Oliver’s. He appears at ease despite the growing tension of confrontation. In fact, he quirks a challenging eyebrow at her in agreement with John’s question. She purses her lips, annoyed that John would ask a question she does not know the answer to while her heart soars that Oliver will follow her lead in this. 

With renewed confidence that the Birds are hers - that Oliver and Roy and Rory are hers - Felicity spins to face John Diggle with a grin. “Still does he think we are run by men. At my estimation, with our display at the castle and in the forest, he believes Oliver to be in command, that I am just a girl who is swayed by a pretty face. We will use his prejudice to cripple him.” 

She saunters closer to John. The coil of his muscles has relaxed just a fraction. Tis a reminder that he married a strong woman and is familiar with her ilk. Felicity tilts her head, her head filled with plots and plans that bring a smirk to her lips. 

“Tis the simplest way to outwit a man. You will find that most men think women incapable of individual thought. Did you or did you not assume Oliver to be the leader of the Birds, John Diggle?” 

There is another moment of silence before John chuckles and shakes his head in consternation. “I should have known Lyla would assist no one less than a brilliant woman.” 

Felicity snorts. “Art thou finished, Master Diggle? Or do you wish to question my authority another time?” 

“Nay. We have an understanding.” His eyes flash with mirth as they dart to Oliver and back to her. “Pray pardon, my lady. I had to be sure.” 

“That Lord Starling was not command?” She asks with an arched brow. She cannot quite grasp the issue Diggle has with their current situation. 

He grins. “That you were someone I could respect, someone that did not let themselves be governed by others.” His eyes drift over the valley. “I do believe I can see what mine wife saw in thee. My hammer and my fists are yours.” 

As when the Birds started to follow her, albeit with less vocal declarations, Felicity finds her throat tightening. She did not set out to lead, only to help. Now, she could not stop if she tried. She is fully committed. There be only one issue: Laurel. 

Laurel should be by her side, should be here to lead right along with her. Instead the space is empty, a hole where the hopes of the Birds rattle and echo. The future is far more daunting as she stands here, suddenly, horrifically aware of what is to be expected of her by this band of rebels, these brigands who just declared war on the most powerful man in the shire. 

Malcolm Merlyn will show them no mercy. 

“Aye. My sword and shield are yours,” Roy announces, stepping forward to stand beside John. 

The ridiculous nature of her foster brother’s announcement saves Felicity from succumbing to panic. He goes so far as to take a knee on the ground and flourish a sword she knows he did not have when they fled Nottingham. 

Rory moves as if to mimic the motion, however, Evelyn cuts him off with a furious elbow to his ribs and some quick words in his ear. Felicity is too far to hear what threat she uses but Rory immediately backs up. 

Felicity shakes her head fondly. “You are bo-” 

“I would add my own sword, shield, and very body to your cause,” Oliver drops to kneel beside Roy, bow in hand, “I will be your weapon to use as you see fit. I shall fight for justice by thy side until the breath leaves my body and no more blood flows in my veins.” 

Felicity would turn to Thea for an ally, but the girl is already on her knees, with each of the Birds following suit until Rory pulls an exasperated Evelyn down as well. The whole world has devolved into madness. 

Sara chuckles and then drops into her own bow. 

Tears prickle the corner of Felicity’s eyes and she drops to her knees in the circle of her new followers. 

“I know not what I have done to win this fealty. I only know that I pursue justice because it is right, because those who have must look out for those who have not.” She flounders for words. She knows that oaths are common with knights, with those who swear to liege lords, but she was not of that world. “I accept your vows and I swear to you that I shall hold you to these standards in the hopes that you will home me to the same:  All that we do, we do in the name of human decency and love. We act for our fellow men. We will combat injustice, protect the weak, and perpetrate fairness in all things. So I swear.” 

“So I swear.” 

The words are spoken in a chorus of different tenors, an echo of the change already wrought and the change to come. Oliver’s eyes meet hers as the Birds, old and new, cheer and rise. The wind shifts, or maybe it’s the hunger and conviction in Oliver’s gaze, but Felicity is suddenly faced with the bright possibilities that lie ahead. 

The future is theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers! I'm overjoyed that you have found my lovely story. It may be a little on the nose, but I hope the twists and turns I have created will keep you enthralled in this tale. I'm working at a Renaissance Faire this summer, so this may or may not be inspiring me creatively in more than one way. I really REALLY hope you enjoyed this chapter. Kudos/bookmarks/comments are ALWAYS greatly appreciated. Feel free to let me know what you think! 
> 
> <3 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ!


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